


Free Fire

by LydiaBSlade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Anal Sex, Angst, BenArmie AU, Blow Jobs, Combat Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Happy Ending, Eye Trauma, Gunshot Wounds, Hand Jobs, Head Injury, Holocaust references, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Intracrural sex, Jewish Identity, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, No Major Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Transphobia, Power Imbalance, Referenced Past Hux/OMC, Referenced RenBen and Ben/KoR, Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Rimming, Self-Harm, Slight Background FinnPoe, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaBSlade/pseuds/LydiaBSlade
Summary: During the summer of 1967, Private Ben Solo - reluctant draftee, not-very-conscientious objector, and aspiring folk singer - ships out to Vietnam. There, he encounters Lieutenant Armitage Hux - Sandhurst graduate, professional military officer, and self-styled counterinsurgency expert. They get along about as well as you would expect.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 307
Kudos: 391





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See notes at the end of the work for an explanation of the acronyms used in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the tags refer to later events, not to anything that happens in this chapter. See endnotes for chapter-specific warnings.

“Stop that bloody racket at once!”

Ben, who had been feeling especially pleased with himself for managing to evade his squad leader and find this pleasantly cool, breezy spot in the shade of a large white stucco building, briefly sets down his guitar. Then he picks it up again and goes on playing as if he hadn’t heard. After all, finding this battered and apparently ownerless guitar in his squad’s tent has been the first real stroke of luck Ben has had since he arrived in Lai Khe. Before that, even - since his draft notice came in the mail, really. He needs to take every opportunity he can find to practice.

As soon as Ben starts the song over - his concentration having been disturbed by the interruption - a door slams behind him and someone bounds out of the building to stand in front of him. 

“Did you not hear me telling you to stop?” the man - well, a boy really; he doesn’t look any older than Ben - demands. He has a crisp-sounding British accent. “Some of us have important work to do. Clear off and go make irritating noises somewhere else.”

The boy is dressed oddly, in a uniform that Ben has never seen before - a khaki blouse and shorts that only come to mid-thigh, with impeccably-polished leather boots and what appear to be woolen knee socks. He’s tall and very thin, with skin so white it nearly glows, and stiffly-gelled hair that is a startlingly bright shade of orange-red. From Ben’s point of view, sitting cross-legged on the grass, the pale insides of the stranger’s thighs are directly at Ben’s eye level.

Ben gazes up at this apparition in some astonishment before he finds his voice. “Says who?” he asks belligerently. “I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“No you don’t, _Private_ Solo,” the boy says scornfully, looking at the nametape on Ben’s uniform. 

“Why? Who are you, the Queen of England?”

The boy flushes an angry red and draws himself up to stand even more stiffly, looking down at Ben. “I’m Lieutenant Armitage Hux,” he says haughtily. He pronounces “lieutenant” oddly, as if it has an “f” in it. “I’m the brigade commander’s counterinsurgency advisor.”

“Oh,” Ben says. “Does that mean I’m supposed to salute you or something?”

“Yes, you’re required to render all customs and courtesies to me just as if I were an American officer.” He frowns at Ben. “And you’re supposed to stand at attention when you talk to me.”

“Oh fine,” Ben says irritably, standing up. He’s an inch or so taller than Lieutenant Hux, which clearly annoys him - Hux tilts his head back so that he can continue to look down his nose at Ben even from below. Ben suppresses the urge to laugh. “Are you English or something? I didn’t know we had any Brits out here.”

“Technically you don’t,” Hux says. “I’ve been seconded to the Royal Australian Army for this tour. And you’re supposed to address me as ‘sir.’”

“So your country isn’t even fighting and they still made you come here?” Ben says. “That’s some bullshit. Sir.”

Hux looks surprised. “Oh no, they didn’t make me come here. I arranged it myself. It was really quite difficult to make it happen.”

“You _wanted_ to come here?” Ben asks incredulously. “Are you insane?”

“You aren’t supposed to talk to me like that,” Hux complains, but he seems less angry now. He looks Ben up and down in a way that, unaccountably, makes Ben’s face feel hot. Hux’s eyes are very green. “I take it you aren’t here of your own free will, Private Solo?”

“God, no,” Ben says. “I did everything short of actually going to jail to get out of it. And please stop calling me that.”

“Why, what do you want to be called?”

Ben hesitates. “Call me Kylo,” he says hopefully. 

Hux raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that a ‘call me Ishmael’ sort of name?” he asks. “Or did your mother actually name you ‘Kylo Solo’?”

“It’s no worse than ‘Armitage,’” Ben retorts. “But no, she didn’t. I perform under the name Kylo Ren.”

“Ah,” Hux says. The corners of his mouth twitch as though he’s trying not to smile. “Of course. I suppose I did interrupt you in the midst of a musical performance. What is your legal name, if you don’t mind?”

“Benjamin,” he admits begrudgingly. “But I’d rather be called Kylo.”

“I see,” Hux says. He’s still looking at Ben in that way that makes Ben feel oddly short of breath. “And what unit are you with?”

“Dagger Battalion.” Ben waves a hand vaguely in the direction of his company’s camp. “Third Platoon, Alpha Company.”

“So you’re an infantryman?”

“I guess I am now. Also not by choice.”

“In that case,” Hux says, touching Ben’s sleeve, “shouldn’t you be closing with and destroying the enemy, or some such activity? Not loitering about here with a guitar?”

Ben isn’t entirely certain whether Hux is scolding him or just making fun of him. Somehow he finds he doesn’t mind either way. “I have a guard shift on the perimeter this afternoon,” he says. For some reason, he is very aware of the feeling of Hux’s slim fingers on his arm. “If I hang around the company area now my squad leader’ll put me on some stupid detail or other.”

“Well, Private Solo,” Hux says, still looking him over in that cool, appraising way, “this building is your brigade headquarters, and your squad leader also does not want you to be here. Trust me on this. So you need to find somewhere else to hide.”

Ben picks up his guitar reluctantly. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise to stop calling me that.”

Hux looks amused. “Very well, _Kylo_ ,” he says. “Have it your way.” He pats Ben’s bicep and turns back towards the building. “Off with you now.”

“Bye,” Ben says weakly as the door closes behind Hux. He slings his guitar over his shoulder, thinking _What the hell just happened here?_

***

The next morning is even hotter than the day before. Ben is accustomed to being able to easily outrun most other soldiers - he had been considered a rising star on his high school football team, at least until the unfortunate incident during his junior year - but during his platoon’s morning run he feels as if the humidity is drowning him. The thick, soupy air settles over his face like a wet cloth. 

Ben has only been in Vietnam for three days, but he knows now that by early afternoon the heat will draw together into blinding sheets of rain. The day before, as he sat sleepily in the guard tower looking out at the peaceful paddy fields beyond the base, Ben had been briefly mesmerized by the beauty of the clouds rolling in. The water in the rice paddies reflected the sky, so that the whole world was wet and shining. Then the wind changed and the rain came slanting into the tower. Ben, who had not bothered to bring his poncho, was soaked to the skin, shivering off and on through the rest of his twelve-hour shift.

After breakfast, Ben glances around, and when no one is looking he hastily grabs his guitar and makes a break for the muddy trail that leads towards the brigade headquarters. He’s only had a few hours sleep, but he feels excited, keyed-up. He makes himself comfortable in the same grassy spot as before. Inside, he can hear a typewriter clattering loudly. 

Today, as soon as he begins tuning his guitar, the window above his head opens and a now-familiar orange head pokes out. “I see you’ve returned to plague me once again,” Hux remarks, peering down at him. He doesn’t actually sound especially displeased. “I suppose you might as well come inside, so that no one higher-ranking than me catches you lurking here.”

“Sure,” Ben says eagerly, coming around the side door and into Hux’s office. For reasons that he is choosing not to examine too closely, he’s oddly delighted to see the eccentric lieutenant again. Hux’s office is small but surprisingly pleasant. The ceiling is high, and a fan stirs the warm air; a large screened window lets in the breeze. The floors are polished hardwood, but the interior walls, which don’t reach the ceiling, are flimsy and new. It looks like a corner of a much grander room, now hastily partitioned by plywood. 

Hux’s desk is stacked with books and papers. There’s only one chair, which Hux is sitting in, so Ben shoves some of the books aside and sits down on the desk. Hux frowns at that, but says nothing. Ben leans over to peer at the sheet of paper that’s still stuck in the typewriter. “What’s this?” he asks. “Your grand plan to win the war?”

“Something like that,” Hux says gloomily. “Or it would be, if anyone would listen to me.”

“Because you’re the brigade commander’s - what did you say you do again?”

“I’m an expert on counterinsurgency warfare,” Hux says proudly. He sits up straighter in his chair. “While I was at King’s College I wrote a monograph on the lessons of the Malayan Emergency. The first of its kind. That’s why I came here - because it’s the perfect opportunity to apply those lessons.”

Ben has never heard of the Malayan Emergency and has only the vaguest idea of what counterinsurgency warfare might be, but he feels certain that Hux will respond unkindly if he admits this. Instead, he says, “But they won’t listen to you?”

Hux sighs. “No.” He looks deflated again. “Whenever I make a suggestion during operational planning, Colonel Peavey just tells me that he was at Normandy and in Korea and that he doesn’t need some schoolboy to teach him how to fight. I’ve tried to explain to him that the population is the enemy’s center of gravity and that we have to win over the population in order to win the war, and he just responds that ‘we don’t need to win ‘em over when we’ve got ‘em by the balls.’” Hux mimics the commander’s American accent contemptuously. 

“Sounds like a great guy,” Ben says. “Didn’t you say you were here with the Australians? Why aren’t you with one of their units?”

“I was, at first,” Hux says, “but the Australians didn’t need me to tell them about the lessons of the Malayan Emergency - quite a few of them actually fought in it.” He sighs again. “To be honest, I don’t think they really knew quite what to do with me.”

Ben nods sympathetically. No one has ever known quite what to do with him either. 

“Well, enough of that,” Hux says abruptly, looking at him. “What about you, Ky-lo? How did you come to be here?”

“Because I fucked up.”

“Oh.” Hux looks intrigued. “Were you one of those delinquents who was offered a choice between prison and the Army?”

“What? No, I’m not a criminal,” Ben says, annoyed. “I got drafted. I just mean, I fucked up. As in, my grades weren’t good enough to get into college. I barely finished high school. My mother teaches high-school history, so you can imagine how well that went over.” 

“So you’re not academically inclined?”

“I mean, I like to read and stuff like that, I’m not an idiot.” Ben scowls, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know, I was just mad all the time in high school; I felt like everything was bullshit and everyone was out to get me. Looking back on it, I don’t know what I was so pissed off about all the time. My life was pretty good.” From the vantage point of Vietnam the difficulties of being in high school seem very small and far away, as if he were peering at them through the wrong end of a telescope.

“Anyway,” Ben says, with a sigh, “I couldn’t convince the doctor that my shoulder was too fucked-up from football for the army, and I couldn’t convince the draft board that I was actually a conscientious objector for real. It probably didn’t help that the rabbi my mom got to vouch for me hadn’t actually laid eyes on me since my bar mitzvah.”

“Oh, you’re Jewish?” Hux asks, with interest. He begins ruffling through the papers on his desk.

“Yeah. I guess.” Ben shrugs. “I mean, I am, but no one in my family is very religious. My mom death-marched me through enough basic Hebrew to get through my bar mitzvah and I pretty much haven’t been inside a synagogue since. My mom doesn’t really go either; I think her big thing with being Jewish is mostly that she spends all her time yelling at everyone she knows to be a better person. It’s exhausting.”

Hux opens a folder full of newspaper clippings and flaps it at Ben. Ben takes it, confused. “I’ve been looking for someone to discuss Israeli tactics with - I was very impressed by your historic victory in June. Congratulations!”

“For what?”

Hux looks at Ben as if he’s being especially slow-witted. “For the recapture of East Jerusalem! And the defeat of the Arab states.” He looks at Ben incredulously. “Surely you’ve heard about it?”

“Oh yeah, that,” Ben says, looking down at the newspaper clippings. “Thanks, I guess. I mean, it didn’t really have anything to do with me.”

“Nothing to do with you?” Hux sounds aghast. “It - it was an extraordinary moment for the Jewish people! You don’t see that?”

“You sound like my mother,” Ben groans. “She was pestering me about this too. She sent me a bunch of letters about it.”

“Well, of course,” Hux says, looking smug. 

“Look,” Ben says, “it may have been an extraordinary moment for the Jewish people, but in June this Jewish person was way more concerned about finishing basic and shipping out here. I mean, I’ve never even been to Israel. I’m from New York.”

“Isn’t your mother from New York too?”

“No. Not originally. She’s from Vilna - from Lithuania. She survived the war by hiding in the woods with the Resistance. That’s part of what makes her so exhausting.”

“Exhausting?” Hux echoes indignantly. “She sounds fascinating. I would love to talk to her.”

“Be my guest,” Ben says drily. “I’ll give you her address. I’m sure she’d enjoy your letters much more than she enjoys mine.”

“I might take you up on that,” Hux says thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his lower lip. His lips are very pink and soft-looking, almost heart-shaped; Ben forces himself to stop staring at them before Hux notices anything odd. “I have a number of questions about World War II partisans that she might be able to help me answer.”

“Wonderful,” Ben says, rolling his eyes. “I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Perhaps it will be,” Hux says, tipping back his head to look down his nose at Ben again. “I can’t believe you’re the son of a genuine World War II Resistance fighter and all you can say about it is that she’s _exhausting_.”

“Because she is,” Ben says. “You don’t know her. She’s a wonderful person, she’s a hero, all that. For sure. But imagine trying to talk to your mother about normal stuff, like normal high-school bullshit, when she spent her teenage years literally fighting Nazis. Trust me, it’s exhausting.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hux says disdainfully. “My mother died when I was six.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says, somewhat abashed. “You’re welcome to borrow mine, if you want.” 

Hux smiles at him suddenly. Something about that smile makes Ben feel oddly light-headed. “Thank you,” he says. 

“No problem,” Ben says, trying to collect himself. “You might want to go easy on the counterinsurgency stuff with her, though. Seeing as how she used to _be_ the insurgency.”

Huxs looks annoyed again. His nose twitches irritably; Ben wonders why he finds this so endearing. “That was an entirely different situation,” Hux protests. “We’re here to protect democracy in South Vietnam. We’re not Nazis.”

“I’m not sure my mother sees it that way,” Ben says. “I mean, she doesn’t think we’re Nazis, but we’re here to kill Commies, right? Anyway, my mom still remembers the Communists mostly as liberators. She always says that the Communists and the Jews were the only people actually in the Resistance. She says everyone else just collaborated and then lied and tried to pretend they were Resistance after the war.”

“Hmmph,” Hux says. “I’m beginning to understand where you get your uniquely aggravating personality.” 

Ben grins. Hux’s tone of voice suggests that he doesn’t entirely object to being aggravated by Ben. “I do my best.”

“With your - revolutionary origins,” Hux says, rolling his eyes, “I’m surprised you allowed yourself to be drafted at all. Don’t your sort of people usually flee to Canada or some such place?”

“I tried,” Ben says, with another sigh. “I fucked that up too.”

Hux laughs. “That sounds like a story.”

“Not really,” Ben mutters. He doesn’t especially want to discuss this. “I was only there for a week. Then I got into a fight with this dickhead at the bar where I was working. He started it - well, kind of - but I hurt him pretty bad. The owner of the bar was going to call the police, so I hopped back on the bus to New York before they showed up.”

Hux looks amused. “May I ask - what was the cause of the fight?”

Ben opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shrugs. “Just stupid bullshit.”

“Very well, be mysterious if you like,” Hux responds. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be? I have work to do.”

Ben stands up, then hesitates. “I don’t have to start my guard shift for a couple hours, and it’s pouring out there.” He gestures to the window; a cool breeze that smells of rain and the damp earth is blowing in. “Can I just sleep in here for a little while?”

“Sleep in here?” Hux sounds scandalized. “Where?”

“I’m fine on the floor. It’s not much harder than my cot and it’s a lot less muddy in here than down there.”

Hux frowns. “Lock the door at least,” he says, as though he can’t believe he’s actually agreeing to this plan. “I don’t want anyone to come in and see you camping out in here.”

“Thanks,” Ben says, locking the door, setting his guitar down carefully, and flopping down with his head on the empty case. The hardwood floor is very smooth; its smell reminds Ben of a library. The office is much quieter than the ten-man tent where he normally sleeps. He falls deeply asleep almost at once. 

He wakes some time later, feeling disoriented but somehow safer and more comfortable than he has in weeks. Someone is touching his hair. Ben loves to have his head stroked; without thinking, he arches into the touch like a cat. He lets out a pleased little sound. The person touching his hair snatches their hand away and he opens his eyes to see Hux bending over him, looking embarrassed.

“Erm,” Hux says, “Benjamin - Kylo - the rain has stopped. You’d better go before it starts again.”

“What? Oh - thanks.” He glances at his watch. “Oh, shit, yeah, my guard shift starts in ten minutes. Fuck!”

“Well, run along then,” Hux says, sitting back down at his desk. He seems to be avoiding meeting Ben’s eyes. “Don’t be late.”

“See you later?” Ben says, hopefully. 

“It doesn’t appear that I have much choice in the matter,” Hux says, turning away from him. 

***

“Hello there,” Hux says, as Ben stomps unhappily into his office the next morning. He looks Ben up and down and smiles. “You look much more like an infantryman today.” He gestures towards the rifle Ben is carrying and the antenna curling out of his rucksack. “I see you’ve acquired the ability to shoot and communicate - that’s two of the three fundamentals of warfare. Well done!”

“Ugh,” Ben groans. He drops his rifle and pack on the floor with a clatter; Hux frowns. “My platoon sergeant smoked the shit out of me this morning for leaving my rifle in the tent while I was here yesterday. I can’t feel my arms.”

“As well he should,” Hux says, irritatingly. “A rifleman is nothing without his rifle.” He gestures towards the heavy .45-caliber pistol that hangs awkwardly off his skinny hip. “Personally I never go anywhere without my sidearm.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re killing all kinds of VC in here with that thing,” Ben says, rolling his eyes as he sits down on Hux’s desk again. Hux’s nose twitches but he doesn’t say anything. “Anyway, fuck this rifleman bullshit. My mom taught me to type. I asked the sergeant at the intake center to let me be a clerk.” 

“He said no?”

“He laughed at me,” Ben says gloomily. “He said, ‘Son, you’re a born infantryman if I ever saw one.’”

“You are quite fit,” Hux says, then looks embarrassed. He clears his throat. “I only meant - were you an athlete at school?”

“Yeah, I played quarterback on the football team,” Ben says, momentarily distracted from his present woes by the way Hux is looking at him. “I probably would’ve been the starting quarterback my senior year, except I got kicked off the team as a junior.”

Hux laughs. “I begin to sense a pattern emerging,” he says. “Was it because of a fight over ‘stupid bullshit’?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ben admits. “That one was probably my fault, honestly. I broke this kid’s nose. The coach wanted to keep me on the team anyway, but the kid’s father was some kind of lawyer, some kind of big deal, so I got kicked off the team and suspended for a week.”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “Apparently I took my life in my hands when I interrupted your guitar practice,” he says. “I had no idea you were such a dangerous man.”

“I would never hit you,” Ben protests. “Why would I do that? You’re like half my size. This was a fair fight - I mean, I started it, probably, but the guy was bigger than me. He was one of our defensive linemen.” 

“I’m only joking,” Hux says hastily. He straightens his narrow shoulders and tilts up his chin, looking at Ben challengingly. “Besides, I can handle myself in a fight.”

Ben bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “Okay, great. Good for you.”

“I can,” Hux insists. “We can spar sometime, if you like.” 

This time Ben does laugh. “Sure,” he says. “You want to go right now? Let’s do it.”

Hux is still staring Ben down. His pretty lips are slightly parted. _When did I start to think of him as_ pretty, Ben wonders. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

“Perhaps not now,” Hux says, somewhat to Ben’s disappointment. He glances down at his crisply-ironed blouse and shorts. “Not in this uniform.”

“You can go get something else to wear if you want,” Ben suggests. “I’ll wait.”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” Hux says. He looks away. “That is, if you’ll be here.”

Ben shrugs. “The U.S. government says I have to be here for another three hundred and sixty-one days,” he says. _And I’d rather be in this office than anywhere else,_ he thinks, opting not to examine why exactly it is that he feels that way. He glances over at his discarded rifle and pack and sighs. “That reminds me, my platoon sergeant told me this morning I’m the new RTO. So I have to carry that heavy-as-shit radio everywhere from now on or he’s going to smoke the crap out of me again.”

“That’s an important job,” Hux says earnestly. “And a dangerous one.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben says miserably. “The reason they need a new RTO is that the last one got shot in the throat. Apparently I’ve been sleeping in his bed. Nobody told me.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want to frighten you.”

“Or _perhaps_ they just don’t give a shit about me,” Ben says. He puts his head in his hands. “So now when we start going out on patrol everyone’s going to see that stupid fucking antenna on my back and try to take a shot at it. At me.” He swallows, feeling suddenly, horribly close to tears. “And the worst part is, they took my guitar.”

Hux frowns. “That seems unnecessarily harsh. Even given your penchant for using it to make annoying noises when other people are trying to concentrate.”

“Not as a punishment,” Ben says. He swallows hard again. “Apparently it belonged to the dead guy. They’re sending it back to his family with the rest of his stuff.”

“Oh,” Hux says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Ben gestures despairingly towards his radio. “I don’t even know how to use that piece of shit.”

“That’s the sort of thing your squad leader or team leader should be training you to do.” Hux sounds disapproving. 

Ben laughs a little. “To be fair to my squad leader, he might be willing to teach me if I didn’t spend all my free time hiding out here. Anyway, all I remember about radios from basic is something about ‘fill’ being important. And the word ‘squelch’ because I thought it was funny, but I don’t remember what it means. Oh - and I remember that a call for MEDEVAC has nine lines, but I don’t remember what they are.”

“Well,” Hux says, “I can teach you how to use it, if you like. And how to call for fire and call for a MEDEVAC.”

Ben looks up, surprised. “Really? You know about this stuff?”

Hux glares at him. “Using a radio is a basic soldier skill, and I was top of my class at Sandhurst,” he says. “What do you think I studied there - Morris dancing?”

“How the hell would I know what they teach you at wherever that is?” Ben demands. “I just figure that if operating a radio is something they’re making me do, it’s probably something officers don’t bother with. And,” he adds after a moment, smirking at Hux, “I don’t know what Morris dancing is, but I’d love to watch you demonstrate it.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Hux says, turning slightly pink. He leans forward and shoves Ben off his desk, pushing him in the direction of his radio. “Go and bring that here so that you can learn how to be marginally less useless.”

***

When he bangs into Hux’s office the following day, Ben is initially slightly disappointed to see that Hux is wearing green jungle fatigues that look fairly similar to Ben’s own uniform (although Hux’s clothes, unlike Ben’s, are crisply-ironed and spotlessly clean). Seeing Hux, with his long legs and narrow hips, in his little shorts and knee socks, has become one of the highlights of Ben’s day; he tells himself that it’s because he finds it funny. Then he remembers their conversation from the day before.

“Did you dig that out because you’re getting ready to go kill the enemy?” Ben asks, grinning. “Or is that your sparring uniform? Still want to do this?”

Hux’s nose twitches. “It’s entirely your decision,” he says. “I would never challenge an enlisted man to a fight. But I think perhaps the physical exercise might do me good.”

“For sure,” Ben says, dropping his rifle and pack by Hux’s desk. “Me too. Let’s go. Outside, right?”

Hux glances out the window. “Yes, let’s. Before the rain starts again.”

“Does it always rain like this here?” Ben asks, following Hux outside and into what he thinks of as “the forest.” The trees are very tall and straight, planted at uniform intervals, with odd markings on the trunks. The ground is damp and ferny. On his own, Ben usually sticks strictly to the muddy path: the strange trees look the same to him in all directions and he has no idea how he would find his way back if he became lost among them. But Hux heads off into them unhesitatingly. 

“No,” Hux says, striding rapidly forward. “August is the height of the rainy season. In October it will begin to be cooler and drier - lovely weather actually, until the hot season starts in February or so.”

“Oh good,” Ben says. “I feel like I’m about to start sprouting mushrooms in this rain. I don’t think my feet have fully dried out since I got off the boat.”

“You won’t have time to loiter about my office once the fine weather comes,” Hux says. His back is to Ben and Ben can’t tell if he’s pleased by the idea of being rid of Ben or not. “At the moment the wet weather favors the enemy. But the brigade will begin major combat operations again when the rains stop.”

“Oh,” Ben says, deflated. “Of course. I should’ve known better than to think things would ever suck less here.”

“Best to take it a day at a time,” Hux agrees. He pauses in a small clearing among the trees and turns to face Ben. “Well?”

“Sure, yeah,” Ben says eagerly. The idea of putting his hands on Hux curls excitingly through him. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “You ready?”

“On the count of three,” Hux says sternly, putting one foot forward and holding his small fists up in front of his face like a boxer. Ben nearly swallows his tongue trying not to laugh. He has no intention of seriously trying to hit Hux, but he dutifully holds up his fists as well. “One, two, three - go!”

Hux darts forward like a dragonfly, aiming blows rapidly at his head and chest. Ben blocks most of them easily but makes no attempt to strike back. “Come on!” Hux says angrily. “Hit me!” 

Ben swings half-heartedly at Hux. Hux ducks and gets under Ben’s guard; his fist connects with Ben’s face. Ben laughs, surprised. He tastes blood in his mouth. It feels good, almost, like the shock of jumping into a cold pool on a hot day. 

Hux glares at him, jabbing at him again, from the left this time. Ben blocks it. “You’re not even trying,” Hux complains. “Stop going easy on me!”

“Yeah?” Ben says, smiling at him, swaying towards Hux on the balls of his feet. He licks the blood off his lower lip. “You want this?” 

“Just do it!” Hux snaps. “Stop holding back!”

“Fine!” Ben surges forward, driving his shoulder into Hux’s chest and tackling him to the damp ground. Hux yelps and beats his fists on Ben’s back. Ben wraps his arms around Hux, pinning him down. It’s a clumsy hold, but he’s too heavy for Hux to get away easily. “There. I win. Happy now?”

“This is wrestling, not sparring,” Hux complains. He bucks his hips, trying to throw Ben off him. Ben clamps Hux’s legs more firmly between his thighs.

“You should’ve - you should’ve set ground rules before we started if you wanted to be so picky,” Ben pants. Hux’s pink, flushed face is very close to his own. He can smell Hux’s sweat and the clean scent of his hair. The stiff gel that holds Hux’s hair in place seems to be dissolving in the humidity; it’s falling over his eyes. Hux is still squirming underneath him, wriggling between his legs. A startling heat jolts through Ben at the feeling. To his horror, he realizes that he’s getting hard, pressed against Hux. 

He lets go immediately and rolls off Hux, into a patch of wet ferns. He turns his back to Hux, trying to get himself under control. A heavy drop of rain splashes onto his face. 

“You’d better get back to your camp before it pours,” Hux says. His voice sounds odd, half-strangled. “Besides, I have work to do.”

“Okay,” Ben says, taking a deep breath, “yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: the fact that Hux is a lieutenant and Ben is a private inherently creates a problematic power imbalance between them, although Hux isn’t in Ben’s direct chain of command. Also, although it’s not clear in this chapter, Ben is 19 and Hux is 24. 
> 
> Other than that this chapter is relatively mild. They bicker a lot, discuss the Six-Day War, and spar at one point - there’s a brief reference to blood and at least one awkward boner. I’ll add additional tags as necessary with future chapters. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who supported me through the writing of my last longfic! Would love to hear what you think of this one. Come shout at me on Twitter under the same username if you’re so inclined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags (just added the one for self-harm), and see endnotes for detailed chapter warnings.

With his unvarying schedule - twelve hours of sleeping and breakfast and bothering Hux, twelve hours in the guard tower eating C-rations and trying to stay awake as he watches the light change over the rice paddies - Ben has mostly lost track of what day of the week it is. He only knows that the today is Sunday because his platoon leader reminded them all at breakfast that there would be church services up the hill that morning. Ben wonders where Hux is: does he go to church? Surely he wouldn’t be in his office on a Sunday morning. Ben lies on his cot for a while after breakfast, trying to sleep. It’s hot and stuffy in the tent, and he can hear some of his squadmates laughing and talking outside. 

His mind returns again and again to the wrestling match from the day before: he can’t stop wondering if Hux noticed that anything was off. He tries to tell himself that his body only reacted that way because it’s been so long since he’s even spoken to a girl, let alone touched one, but it’s difficult for him to convince even himself. 

Ben’s periodic, awkward encounters with girls have always been unsatisfying. He can go through the motions, up to a point, but the girls in question have always seemed inexpressibly disappointed with him, in ways that have added enormously to the knot of frustration and anger that always seems to be clenched in the pit of his stomach. 

In Ben’s high-school biology class, his teacher had once mentioned a procedure that allowed a frog’s brain to be cut off from the rest of its nervous system in such a way that the frog remained alive, but unable to feel anything; after that, whenever Ben tried to push himself to touch his dates in the ways that seemed to be expected of him, he thought of those damaged frogs. It seemed possible to him that he had sustained some sort of similar neurological damage at football practice. He had once fumblingly tried to ask his doctor about this, but his doctor - an elderly German Jew with a heavy accent and a bushy white beard that made him look like a Semitic Santa Claus - had only chuckled and told Ben to give himself time. He would meet the right girl, eventually; there was no hurry.

In any case there certainly hadn’t seemed to be anything wrong with his nervous system when Hux was squirming underneath him. Ben bites down on his lip at the thought, shifting uncomfortably on his narrow canvas cot. Finally he gives up on sleep and decides to go and see if Hux is in his office.

He’s relieved to find that he can hear the loud clattering of Hux’s typewriter before he even gets near the building. Inside, he finds Hux hunched over his desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a large mug of coffee at his elbow. His head is wreathed in blue smoke. 

“I haven’t got any time to waste today,” Hux announces as soon as Ben walks in. “I’ve persuaded Colonel Peavey to take me with him to take notes at a very important meeting next week. I need to finish this paper first.”

“If you’re just taking notes,” Ben says, “why do you need to write a paper?”

“General Westmoreland will be at the meeting,” Hux says, not looking up. He stubs out his cigarette and takes a gulp of coffee. “I might have the opportunity to give this paper to his aide.”

“Oh right,” Ben says, trying not to roll his eyes, “your plan to win the war. I almost forgot.”

“Yes, whether you believe it or not, I actually have a purpose here that goes beyond helping you evade your chain of command,” Hux says irritably. “Don’t stand about staring at me. Clear off.”

“What’s your paper about?” Ben asks, hoping to get him talking. 

“I want to persuade General Westmoreland to abandon his idiotic strategy of attrition and adopt a population-centric counterinsurgency approach,” Hux says importantly. “This could be my chance to change the whole direction of the war.”

That seems like a highly unlikely outcome to Ben, based on his admittedly limited knowledge of generals and lieutenants and war, but there’s clearly no point in saying so to Hux. He casts about for something to say that will keep Hux from kicking him out. He considers asking for a cigarette, but Ben has only begun smoking recently - to keep himself awake on guard, mostly, and to make sure he gets to take smoke breaks - and he doesn’t want to do anything amateurish that Hux will laugh at. “What is this strategy you keep talking about, anyway?” he asks, eventually. “I don’t think I really understand it.” This, at least, is true. 

Hux looks pleased by the question. He stands up, as if he’s giving a presentation in school. “There are three basic principles,” he says, holding up three fingers. “First, you need to separate the population from the enemy. Second, you need to protect the population. And third, you need to present them with a political solution that they prefer to what the enemy can offer. Clear, hold, and build.” 

Hux paces around the small office, gesturing emphatically with his hands as he continues his explanation. Ben has mostly stopped paying attention to this lecture, but he’s enjoying watching Hux stride around and gesticulate. Hux is wearing his shorts and knee socks again, and his enthusiasm for his subject has brought a pretty flush to his face.

Belatedly, Ben realizes that Hux has stopped talking and is looking at him expectantly. Apparently Ben has missed something crucial. “Sorry,” he says guiltily, “what was that again?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I should have known you weren’t listening,” he says, sounding exasperated. “Why do you even bother to ask me questions if you don’t care about the answer? I spend all day, every day, talking to Americans who have no interest in my ideas. I don’t need to make it a hobby as well as a profession.”

“I just like looking at you,” Ben blurts out, then bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, mortified. _Where did that come from?_ “Uh - I just - I mean - “

Surprisingly, Hux’s annoyance seems to vanish. He looks at Ben consideringly, and takes an audible breath. Then he steps towards Ben and puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning towards him. “Would you like to come back to my room?” he asks in a low voice, almost a whisper. His lips are very close to Ben’s ear. Ben shivers slightly. 

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Ben says, a little startled, but pleased by the invitation. He’s relieved that Hux doesn’t seem put off by his awkwardness. He’s also curious to see what Hux’s room looks like: the allegedly palatial living quarters of the commanders and staff officers have been a topic of considerable discussion among the soldiers in the perpetually damp tent where Ben sleeps. “Right now?”

“Hmm, yes, I’d like that,” Hux says, squeezing Ben’s shoulder, “if you’re willing.”

“Sure, why not?” Ben says. “Let’s go.”

Hux seems unusually nervous and tense as they head up a small hill, through the strange trees. “What’s your platoon leader’s name?” he asks abruptly. 

Ben glances at him, confused. “Lieutenant Mitaka. Why?”

“In case anyone stops us and asks why I’m bringing you here. I’ll say that I need to give you some papers to take to him.”

Ben laughs. “Okay,” he says. “Why, are lowly enlisted soldiers not allowed to hang out around where you live?”

Hux frowns. “It might seem - untoward, if they did.” 

Ben shrugs. “Whatever you say.” As they come up over the hill, a sprawling white wooden building comes into view. It has a peaked roof and a wide, shady veranda; a few men are sitting there in rocking chairs. It reminds Ben of the pictures of Southern plantation houses that he had sometimes seen in his history textbooks at school. “Wait. That’s not where you live, is it?”

“It is, yes.”

Ben whistles. “Are you fucking kidding me? You guys live in a _mansion_?”

Hux looks uncomfortable. “It’s not as luxurious as it looks. It has mice and wood-rot. And it’s only got cold-water taps.”

“You live in a mansion!” Ben repeats, disbelievingly. “Some of the guys told me that, but I thought they were just bullshitting me. Like maybe you had actual barracks instead of a tent. This is like - like - fucking Gone with the Wind up here!”

“It is, actually, a bit,” Hux admits. “That’s what this base is - a plantation. A French rubber plantation. I suppose they decided to just go ahead and use the existing facilities for us.”

“For _you_ ,” Ben says. “We don’t even have a floor where I am. We put down boards but they keep sinking into the mud.” He glances around. “Is that what these weird trees are? They make rubber?”

“Yes,” Hux says. “Every time your operations damage one of the trees the plantation owners send your government a bill for $250.”

Ben shakes his head. “That’s almost three times what I get paid a month. Good to know I’m worth less than a French tree.” 

“You’re certainly much less productive and useful than a rubber tree,” Hux says - rather affectionately, Ben thinks. Maybe. 

“You don’t seem to mind,” Ben says, elbowing him. Hux flushes slightly. They skirt the side of the building; Hux seems to be trying to approach it without being seen. Ben looks around and his eyes widen. “You have a pool!”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose we do. I never use it, I burn easily.” Hux tugs at Ben’s elbow, pulling him away, towards a side door.

“You have a _pool_ ,” Ben repeats, enviously. He looks back longingly at it. Even at home, Ben’s parents had never been able to afford the health-club membership that would have allowed him to use a private pool like this one, and public pools in Manhattan are always so packed with children in the summer that it’s impossible to do anything but splash around. Ben feels as if he’s spent half of every summer packed into the hot, crowded subway, taking the long ride from the Lower East Side to Coney Island. Swimming laps in the ocean, long and slow, is one of the few activities that seems to silence the angry chorus in his brain and un-knot the tense lump in his stomach; nothing else makes him feel so calm, even his music. “Can I use it?”

“Not right now,” Hux says impatiently. He glances around anxiously, then ushers Ben in through the side door. Ben follows him into a dim, musty-smelling hallway.

“Are enlisted guys not allowed to swim there?” Ben asks, as Hux unlocks his door. “Maybe you could talk to the commander - I mean, they have rivers here, we need to practice swimming - “

“Shhh,” Hux says, pulling Ben into his room. His fingers are cool on the inside of Ben’s wrist. He shuts the door behind them and locks it. “Come here.”

Ben opens his mouth and then immediately forgets what he meant to say, because, to his astonishment, Hux is kissing him. Ben freezes. Hux slides a hand into Ben’s short hair, and slips his tongue into Ben’s mouth, pressing up against him. Hux’s mouth tastes of smoke and coffee. Heat flares sharply between Ben’s legs, like a lit match dropped in gasoline.

Hux makes a pleased little sound against Ben’s lips. He runs his other hand appreciatively down over Ben’s chest, down to his fly. His fingers find the bulge of Ben’s stiffening cock, squeezing and stroking Ben through his pants. Ben is instantly, achingly hard; he gasps dizzily for air. “Mmm,” Hux says softly. “Very nice.”

Hux drops to his knees in front of Ben, tugging at his belt buckle. Ben still hasn’t moved. He finally manages to speak. “What,” he says breathlessly, “what are you doing - “

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hux says. Then he glances up at Ben’s face and his expression changes. “Wait - do you really not know?”

“I - “ Ben swallows hard. He has some idea of what’s going on, but - “I - no. What - “

Hux stands up, scrambling backwards, away from Ben. He holds his hands up in front of his face as if he expects Ben to hit him. “I - I thought we understood each other. What did you think I brought you here for?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really think about it,” Ben says honestly. He takes a step forward. “Hux - “

Hux looks both terrified and embarrassed. He cringes against the far wall, still holding up his hands. “I - please just go,” he says. “I’m so very sorry - of course I won’t bother you again - “

“Hux,” Ben says helplessly. “I don’t - I can’t - “

“Yes, yes, I know,” Hux says, putting his face in his hands. “Please - please leave.”

Ben fumbles with the door for a moment, then staggers into the hallway and outside into the blindingly bright day. He feels overwhelmed, both wretched and exhilarated; his body is still tingling from Hux’s touch. 

He’s most of the way back to his company area before it suddenly occurs to him that he left his rifle and radio in Hux’s office. _Fuck_ , he thinks. He pauses under a tree, chewing on his lower lip. He doesn’t want to get in trouble for losing them, but he isn’t sure if he can face Hux again at the moment. His mind is stuck on a repeating loop, moving jerkily through the electric shock of Hux’s mouth on his - Hux’s fingers stroking him - Hux on his knees, and then Hux cringing against the wall. Ben balls up his fist and _thunks_ it solidly into the trunk of the nearest tree, then does it again and again, methodically, until his knuckles are bleeding freely. 

Reluctantly, he turns and heads back to Hux’s office. If Hux is there, he wonders, will Hux think Ben is coming back for - for more of whatever had been on offer - or will he think that Ben is coming back to beat him up? He winces at the memory of Hux’s frightened face. 

Hux is not in his office. Ben collects his rifle and pack and moves very slowly towards the door, not wanting to admit to himself that he’s disappointed. “Very nice,” he hears again, Hux’s voice in his ear as he fondled Ben, and he feels that flare of heat again, almost painful in its intensity. It had been so good. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. He wants it again, more, now. He shouldn’t - but there it is. 

As he shuffles reluctantly out into the hallway, he hears footsteps behind him and whirls around hopefully. But it’s only an unfamiliar man in crisp fatigues - a lieutenant colonel, Ben realizes, looking at his rank. “Uh, good morning, sir,” Ben says, feeling unaccountably guilty, as if he had just been caught stealing something. 

“Morning,” the man says, frowning. “You lost? Looking for someone?”

“No sir, I was just - uh, trying to find a bathroom.”

“Down the hall.” Ben realizes that the man is looking at his bloody knuckles, which he had almost forgotten about. His hand throbs dully now that he’s paying attention to it. “You get into a fight?”

“No, sir. I - I fell.”

“Well, you’d better stop by your battalion aid station. That’s your trigger finger there - you’re going to need it.”

“Yes sir,” Ben says, edging in the indicated direction of the bathroom. The colonel turns away and Ben makes his escape.

***

The image of Hux on his knees, fumbling with Ben’s belt buckle, chases Ben through his uninteresting lunch in the mess tent and into his guard shift. Staring out into the darkness beyond the perimeter floodlights, he smokes one cigarette after another and thinks about what might have happened if he hadn’t fucked up, yet again. If he hadn’t scared Hux off. 

The summer before Ben’s junior year of high school, he and a buddy from the football team had managed to sneak into one of the X-rated theaters on Eighth Avenue, near Times Square. An emergency-exit door was propped open, for some reason, and they had elbowed each other and laughed and crept inside as quietly as they could, finding seats in the front row. A woman’s enormous face, framed by a beehive hairdo, filled the screen when Ben looked up at it: she was breathing heavily, her open mouth outlined in dark lipstick. Then the camera drew back to show that she was naked, on her hands and knees, with a collar around her neck. A tall, slender man, still fully dressed, moved into the frame and began spanking her with something that looked to Ben like a black leather spatula.

At that, Ben laughed, uncomfortably; the whole thing still seemed like a dumb joke to him. But when he glanced over at his friend - Tony, a compact, muscular kid with curly dark hair - Tony wasn’t laughing. He was staring at the screen, hunched over, his lips parted. When Ben glanced down, he could see Tony’s hand moving between his legs, partly hidden by his untucked shirt. 

Something squirmed inside Ben at the sight. He looked back at the screen. Now the tall man had moved in front of the woman and was unbuckling his belt. He was surprisingly elegant-looking, trim and fit, with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Ben felt a sudden rush of heat go through him as the film cut to a close-up of the man’s hard cock and the woman’s lipsticked mouth opening for it. When the camera moved up to show the man’s handsome, somewhat dissolute face - then back to his cock thrusting past the woman’s lips - Ben gave in, flipping open the top button of his jeans and working his hand into his fly. 

He and Tony hadn’t ever talked about that afterwards. But Tony was there a few months later, in the locker room, when some of the other guys began teasing one of the defensive linemen about how hot his new girlfriend was. Feeling the need to prove something, Ben joined in - so vociferously that the situation devolved quickly into the fight that got him kicked off the team. 

Ben had never gone back to any of those theaters, even after he turned 18 and wouldn’t have had to sneak in anymore. But the image of the man’s face gone slack with pleasure - and the wet lips stretched around his cock - stayed with Ben. It came to mind, often, when he jerked off; he told himself that it was normal to be turned on by the sight of a woman doing that, even though none of the other women he’d seen in pin-ups or girlie magazines had ever affected him in the same way.

Now, as he sucks anxiously on his last cigarette, he finds himself imagining Hux in the same position as that woman from the movie - naked and on his hands and knees, his soft lips opening for Ben’s cock. Maybe with the collar around his neck, too. Ben groans at the thought. He clenches his fist and presses his bruised knuckles into the sheet-metal wall of the guard tower, shifting from side to side, feeling restless and overheated. 

Eventually, looking out into the nighttime nothingness, he nods off to sleep - only to dream about wrestling Hux in the woods the day before. In his dream Hux is once again pink-faced and panting underneath him, but this time Ben doesn’t let him go: this time, Hux clutches at him, rubbing up against him until they’re both seconds away from coming in their pants. 

Ben startles awake to the sound of artillery fire. The first time he had heard that sound, he jumped out of his cot to crouch in the bunker next to his squad’s tent. A few minutes later, his fire-team leader, Corporal Finn, came looking for him. “Hey, Solo,” he said, looking amused, “what’re you doing down there?”

Ben, whose stomach was cramped with terror, gestured wordlessly to the ongoing explosions. They seemed to be getting closer.

“Those are our own guns going off,” Finn said gently. “They do this every night. Go back to bed.”

“Oh,” Ben said, feeling stupid. He crawled out of the bunker. “Every night? Why, what are they shooting at?”

Finn shrugged. “It’s called harassment-and-interdiction fire,” he said. “Supposedly they’re shooting at enemy trails and camps, to disrupt their supply lines or whatever.” He paused for a moment. “Personally I think it’s fucking stupid, they’re probably just chewing up some poor farmers out there, but they didn’t ask for my opinion.”

Now, Ben watches the dim red glow of the fires light up the distant treeline beyond the rice paddies. The rumble of the explosions rolls through him. His mind is still mostly on Hux, half in his dream: he can almost feel Hux’s body underneath his, Hux’s hot breath in his ear. He leans back on his elbow and slides a hand down between his legs.

***

In the morning, Ben is so eager to see Hux again - to straighten things out, he tells himself, so that Hux will know that Ben isn’t angry at him - that he arrives in Hux’s office before Hux does. He flops down on the floor in the corner to wait. 

When Hux comes in and sees him there, his eyes go wide. “What are you doing here?” he hisses, hastily locking the door behind him. 

“I need to talk to you - “

“Shhh!” Hux gestures to the thin walls.

Ben gets up and goes towards him. Hux eyes him warily. “About yesterday - “

“I know my behavior was inexcusable,” Hux says in a fierce whisper, “and I am truly sorry - but I won’t be blackmailed - I won’t - “

“Hux!” Ben says, exasperated. “Will you stop?”

“Keep your voice down!”

Ben lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’m not trying to blackmail you! Where the fuck did that come from?”

“What do you want, then?” Hux is looking at him mistrustfully. 

Ben takes a deep breath. This is more difficult than he had expected it to be. “I, uh,” he whispers, leaning closer to Hux’s ear, “I wanted to tell you - I was just startled yesterday. I wasn’t expecting that - “

“Yes, I know, I never should have done that, I should never have been fraternizing with you in the first place - “

“Will you let me finish?” Ben says, then puts a hand over his mouth when he hears how loud his own voice sounds. He swallows hard. He’s standing close enough to Hux now that he can feel the warmth of his body and smell his hair, and it’s difficult to think. In a soft whisper, he says, “I’m trying to tell you that - that I liked it. What you were doing.”

“I see,” Hux says. He’s still standing with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, but his shoulders relax fractionally. “And what exactly would you like me to do with this information?”

Ben’s face feels hot. “I, uh.” He clears his throat. “Could we - could we go back to your room?”

“Not at the moment,” Hux says. “I have an important briefing to attend in forty minutes.”

Ben considers whether to make the argument that forty minutes is enough time, but decides that that might not actually help his case. “Maybe later then?”

“I’m very busy today,” Hux says loudly. Then he lowers his voice. “Are you on guard again later? What time do you get off?”

Ben is too anxious to make the obvious joke. “Midnight. I could come by your room as soon as I’m done - “

“No, that’s much too late - if anyone sees you I wouldn’t be able to explain why you’re there.”

“You could come by my guard post while I’m on shift.”

Hux looks scandalized. “I’m not going to distract you from your guard duties,” he whispers. “Imagine if the base was overrun by the Vietcong because of us.” Ben giggles at the idea. “I’m serious!”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Oh all right,” Hux says, as if this is a great inconvenience to him. He glances down. “What happened to your hand?”

“I fell,” Ben says, a bit guiltily. He doesn’t want to give Hux any more reasons to feel alarmed about him. He grins at Hux, hoping to distract him. “Want to kiss it better?”

Hux looks Ben up and down in that coolly appraising way he has. His eyelashes are very pale, almost gold. He pulls Ben’s hand towards his lips, cupping Ben’s big fist in both of his smaller hands. The hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stand up. Then, holding Ben’s gaze, Hux deliberately runs his tongue over Ben’s bruised knuckles, licking at the sensitive skin between his fingers. Ben whimpers audibly. His knees go weak. He feels that almost-painful rush of heat to his cock again, dizzying in its intensity. 

Hux looks pleased with himself. He lets go of Ben’s hand. “Off you go,” he says. “Be there tomorrow morning at eight. Don’t be late.”

“Hux,” Ben whispers pleadingly, “I can’t walk out there like this.”

“Oh,” Hux says, raising an eyebrow. “What seems to be the problem?” His fingers dance lightly over the obvious bulge between Ben’s legs. “Is that it?”

Ben lets out a half-strangled sound. “ _Hux._ ” 

Hux glances back at his desk. He hands Ben a large book. Ben takes it, looking at it dumbly. The title is _The Street Without Joy_. “You can read that while you’re on guard. Bring it back to my room tomorrow,” he says briskly, reaching down again to run his thumb up and down the ridge of Ben’s stiff cock through his trousers. Ben groans. “You can stay in here until you’ve calmed down,” Hux adds, as if he’s doing Ben a tremendous favor. He goes to his desk and feeds a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. 

“Really? You’re just going to start work now - even though - I’m - “

“Obviously,” Hux responds, without looking up. He frowns at the typewriter, opens a notebook, and seems to be reviewing something that he had scrawled in it. Then he begins typing.

Ben drops the book Hux had handed him and slumps against the wall, his cock throbbing, trying desperately to think about anything other than Hux’s hands and mouth on him.

***

In the morning everything seems to conspire to frustrate Ben. First his squad leader rounds up his squad immediately after breakfast and has them disassemble and clean their rifles; it’s well over an hour before he’s satisfied with Ben’s. Then, just as Ben takes off at a jog towards Hux’s quarters - he’s already late, but maybe Hux will still be waiting - his platoon sergeant comes around a corner and notices him. 

“Solo!” he barks. “Have you cut your hair since you arrived in country?”

“Uh,” Ben says.

“Wrong answer,” his platoon sergeant responds, and marches him down the hill to the barber shop. A line of soldiers are sitting in the shade of a tarp, waiting apathetically for a single elderly woman wielding a straight razor and a pair of clippers. Ben feels close to tears. By the time he’s finally barbered and free to go, it’s after ten. 

There’s clearly no point in going to Hux’s room. At the brigade headquarters, a group of officers are standing in front of the door, chatting, so he veers off towards Hux’s office window. He can hear the clacking of Hux’s typewriter; it sounds especially angry this morning, he thinks. 

At that moment he also realizes that he’s forgotten the book he had been instructed to return - as a pretext for his visit, he assumes. Surely Hux hadn’t actually expected him to read it. The night before, he had brought it to his guard shift and flipped through it: the gist of it seemed to be that fighting a war in Vietnam was a pointless and terrible idea. Ben was strongly inclined to agree, but, having no choice in the matter, he also had no desire to dwell on it. He set it down and went back to trying (mostly without success) to compose song lyrics in a damp spiral-bound notebook he had brought with him from home. It was frustratingly slow going without a guitar to try them out on. 

“Hux!” he says now in a loud whisper, tapping on the window screen. Hux stops typing, but he hunches his shoulders and doesn’t respond. “Hux!”

“What do you want?” Hux asks without turning around. 

“Please come outside? I came as soon as I could. My platoon had me doing all kinds of bullshit.” 

“I found time for you this morning,” Hux says icily, still with his back to Ben, “but I’m quite busy at the moment.”

“I know, I’m really sorry, but they wouldn’t let me leave. And my squad leader says that soon we’re going to start doing off-post patrols instead of perimeter guard, so I don’t know when I’ll have time to come back here.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Hux says, but he finally turns around. He looks tired. “You spend far too much time here as it is. I can’t get anything done.”

“Hux,” Ben says urgently, “ _please_.”

“Oh very well,” Hux says, getting up. “I can’t have you lurking outside my window like that, regardless.”

Hux pops out through the side door and comes around to join Ben. “Hey,” Ben says softly. “Can we - uh - go back to your place? Or go for a walk?”

“I don’t want to be seen bringing you back to my quarters again,” Hux says shortly. “A few people have already asked me who you are because you’re always in my office.”

“Okay,” Ben says meekly, “but - “

“Yes, let’s walk,” Hux says, striding off, long-legged, towards the line of rubber trees. “Safer than standing here.”

Ben hurries to follow him. His eyes snag on Hux’s perfect, round little ass, which is nicely highlighted by his shorts. He looks away immediately, out of deeply-ingrained habit, before it occurs to him that for once he might actually be allowed to look. The thought feels startlingly good, like letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. 

Hux glances back, catches him staring, and smirks. He looks Ben over. “I see they finally made you cut your hair,” he says. “You look somewhat more like a real soldier than you usually do.”

“I look like a jar with ears,” Ben says gloomily. “I hate this haircut. I was growing my hair out long when I got drafted.” His first haircut at the beginning of basic training had been especially traumatic.

“Long hair looks unkempt and faddish,” Hux says primly, “and it creates hygiene problems during field operations.” He pauses to peer around - they’re well into the treeline by now - and then wraps his cool fingers around Ben’s wrist and tugs him behind a large rock. He pushes Ben gently up against it. Ben’s breathing picks up. “Besides,” Hux adds, leaning in to run the point of his tongue around the inside of Ben’s ear, “I don’t entirely mind your enormous ears.” 

“Oh fuck,” Ben says weakly, as Hux presses up against him. Sweat breaks out on the back of his neck. The rock is cool against his back.

“You like that?” Hux asks, a bit breathlessly, now nibbling experimentally at Ben’s ear.

“Yeah,” Ben pants, clutching at Hux’s shoulders, “oh - fuck - “

“Mmm,” Hux sighs, moving his hot mouth lower, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin just under Ben’s jaw in a way that Ben had not previously known would spark through him like that. Ben runs his hands down Hux’s back, feeling how narrow he is under the crisp cotton of his uniform. He touches Hux’s ass tentatively, then quickly moves his hands up to the small of Hux’s back, not sure if he’s allowed. Hux doesn’t seem to mind. He pushes his hips against Ben eagerly. He’s already hard, and Ben feels that dizzying burst of heat flare through him again. He squeezes Hux’s ass with both hands and thrusts hard against him with a groan. 

Hux wriggles out of his grip and drops to his knees among the ferns. This time Ben can’t get his belt buckle undone fast enough. Hux bats Ben’s shaking hands away and unbuttons his fly for him. Ben isn’t wearing anything under his uniform, and he’s already so hard it hurts; he gasps for air as Hux draws his cock out. Hux sits back on his heels and looks up at Ben’s erection with almost the same expression of intense interest and concentration that comes over his face when he’s working. “Eager, aren’t we?” Hux remarks.

Ben lets out a squeak as Hux wraps his hand around Ben’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the wetness at the tip. Ben’s hips twitch forward involuntarily. “You did tell me to stand at attention when I talk to you,” he manages to say. 

Hux rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t try to be witty,” he says. “Your attempts at humor are as crude as everything else about you.”

Ben opens his mouth to point out that Hux doesn’t seem very bothered by his crudeness at the moment, but then Hux leans forward to begin licking at the head of his cock, little kitten licks, squeezing the shaft with his hand, and - “Ah - fuck!”

Hux looks up at him innocently. “How’s that?”

“Oh my god,” Ben moans, as Hux sucks him fully into his mouth, “that feels amazing - I’ve never - “

“Keep talking,” Hux commands, somehow still imperious even when he’s on his knees, and goes back to sucking him hard. 

“Ah!” Ben gasps, his balls tightening. He looks down to see that Hux has gotten his own fly open and is touching himself as he sucks Ben. His pale thighs are tipped open and his cock is the same pretty pink as his lips. It’s very nearly too much. “Jesus - Hux - your mouth - you’re so good - you’re so good at that - oh, fuck, I can’t - I’m going to - _fuck_!” He’s coming into Hux’s mouth with a yelp, his hips jerking helplessly as Hux swallows around his cock.

Ben sags back against the rock, breathing hard. Hux licks his lips, still stroking himself. His face is dewy with sweat and very flushed. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” he pants. “You sitting on my desk... spreading your legs... I just wanted - wanted your cock in my mouth - oh, god - “ He doubles over, pressing his face into Ben’s thigh as he finishes. 

“That was amazing,” Ben sighs. His hands are still unsteady as he buttons up his pants. He feels relaxed and warm, as if he had just come out of a hot bath after a workout; something seems to have unclenched inside him. 

At his feet Hux is readjusting his uniform and wiping his hand off on the ferns. Hux stands up and takes a step back, bending over to wipe the dirt off his bare knees, not looking at Ben. Ben reaches for him.

“There’s no need to pretend this is some sort of - romantic liaison,” Hux scolds, his body going stiff as Ben tries clumsily to kiss him. He brushes Ben’s hands away. “I know perfectly well what you want from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben asks, trying not to sound hurt. “What’s that?”

“You’ve had it,” Hux says shortly. He begins walking back towards the headquarters. “Don’t follow me about like a lost puppy,” he adds over his shoulder as Ben starts to hurry after him. “Go do something useful. Somewhere else.”

“Why are you being such an asshole?” Ben demands, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. 

“It’s my essential nature,” Hux calls back to him as he walks rapidly towards the top of the hill. Ben watches him unhappily until he disappears among the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Self-harm: Ben hurts his hand by repeatedly punching a tree because he’s feeling stressed and overwhelmed. 
> 
> \- Homophobia: nothing graphic, but there are descriptions of some of Ben’s struggles as a closeted teenager, and both Ben and Hux are dealing with internalized homophobia. Also, at one point Hux gropes Ben and then is afraid that Ben will attack him physically (he doesn’t). 
> 
> \- Power imbalance: as noted in the last chapter’s endnotes, the fact that Hux is a 24-year-old lieutenant and Ben is a 19-year-old private inherently creates a problematic power imbalance between them. 
> 
> \- Loss of virginity: happens! Hux gives Ben a blowjob and isn’t very nice to him afterwards. 
> 
> \- Other possibly triggering content: there’s a reference to pithing a frog without killing it, but it’s a metaphor, not something that actually happens in the story. Also, both Ben and Hux smoke. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I really can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kind words and support.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see endnotes for detailed, chapter-specific warnings.

“So who is she, Solo?”

“Who is who?” Ben asks, confused, as he picks his way along the top of a paddy dike, trying not to slip in the mud. Before the patrol started, one of the other soldiers had told him not to step on soft ground because “Charlie likes to bury land mines in it” - but there doesn’t seem to be anything out here _but_ soft ground. 

His platoon is strung out across the paddy in a V-formation, like migrating geese, slowly making their way through the ankle-deep water. The rice shoots they’re trampling are so green they look almost radioactive in the hot sunlight. 

One of his squadmates - a blond kid with a sunburned neck, called “Z” because the platoon sergeant had declared his Polish surname unpronounceable - keeps looking back and grinning at him. “Come on, Solo,” he says. “We’re not morons. Everyone’s noticed you sneaking off all the time. And now you’ve got a hickey on your neck.”

_Fuck_ , Ben thinks, his chest tightening in panic. He’s grateful, at least, that his face is most likely already too red from exertion and sunburn to get much redder. When he shaved the day before, he had noticed that there was a small purple mark just under his jaw where Hux had bitten him, but it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone else would look at him closely enough to see it. “Uh,” he says eloquently. 

“I know all the bar girls down in the ville,” Z says, “and I’ve never seen you down there. But I’ve got it narrowed down to maybe four girls it could be.”

Ben shakes his head. “Seriously? You need a fucking hobby, man.” The “ville” is a little hamlet within the perimeter of Lai Khe - Ben has heard the other soldiers describing it, enthusiastically, as “nothing but bars and whores.” With his instinct for avoiding situations that might require him to demonstrate an interest in women, Ben has steered clear of it. 

“Bar girls _are_ my hobby,” Z says, smirking. “Come on - who is it?”

It occurs to Ben that an imaginary girlfriend might be a useful alibi in the future. If he goes to see Hux again, that is. He had spent his last guard shift trying to convince himself that he should stay away from Hux; maybe, now that they’re out on patrol for a few days, this _thing_ that’s come over him, this clawing obsession, will let go of him. But it’s only been two days since he last saw Hux among the rubber trees, and he can already feel his resolve wavering. 

“Not one of the bar girls,” Ben says. There’s clearly no point in trying to outmatch Z’s expertise in this area. He pictures the girl on the cover of the “Pocket Guide to Vietnam” that the soldiers had passed around during the long boat trip from Oakland to Vung Tau - a pretty teenager in a straw hat, looking coquettishly over her shoulder as she rode by on a bicycle. “She goes to school in Saigon. She’s here visiting family.”

“What’s her name?” Z asks.

Ben realizes that he has no idea what a typical Vietnamese girl’s name would be. “It’s a secret,” he says. “Her family would be mad if they knew about us.” This, at least, is probably true, Ben reflects. He doesn’t know much about Hux’s family, but he can’t imagine that they would be pleased to hear about what he’s been doing with their son. 

“Come on, Solo,” Z says again, “you can trust me. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Like hell,” Ben retorts. 

Corporal Finn, who has been listening to this conversation, is laughing. “Damn, Solo,” he says. “You’ve been here - what, a week? You work fast.”

“Yeah,” Ben says solemnly. “Love at first sight.” He remembers his first sight of Hux - leaping out of the side door to shout at him for making annoying noises - and has to suppress a laugh. 

Just then there’s a loud squelching and snorting noise at his elbow. Ben glances over to see that an enormous water buffalo has risen out of the muck next to the paddy dike and is looking at him balefully with its round, rolling eyes. With a yelp, he scrambles frantically backwards, away from it. He loses his footing and falls into the water on the other side.

His squadmates are laughing at him. The cool water fills his boots and soaks through his uniform. “Watch out for those water buffaloes, Romeo,” Finn says drily. “They’re all on the side of the Vietcong.”

***

Once they get into the tree line, it’s worse. Two squads walk along a narrow dirt path, while the other two fan out into the dense brush on either side. 

The day before, Ben had been thrilled to be relieved of his position as RTO. _Finally I managed to fuck up in a useful way_ , he thought happily. 

The platoon sergeant who had made Ben RTO had been hospitalized with malaria, and Ben’s squad leader, Staff Sergeant Dameron, stepped up to take his place. Sergeant Dameron informed Ben, not unkindly, that he didn’t want the “FNG” - the “fucking new guy” - working the radio, at least not for the moment. “Swap out with Rogers,” Sergeant Dameron said. Rogers was in Ben’s squad; he was Finn’s ammo carrier. “And Finn, start teaching Solo to use your M-60. I need you to be able to concentrate on leading the squad.” Being an ammo carrier sounded exhausting, but at least it probably wouldn’t make him a target the way a radio antenna would. And Ben felt mildly interested in the prospect of getting to use a machine gun. 

Now, however, Ben almost wants his radio back. Rogers, as RTO, is with the platoon leader, on the path, while Ben’s squad hacks their way through the underbrush. The packs of M-60 ammo hang off his shoulders like lead weights. His feet are blistering inside his wet boots, and clouds of mosquitoes surround them. 

“Why can’t we all just walk on the path?” Ben gasps, after what feels like hours, kicking at a thorny vine that has ensnared his left ankle. Its spines have gone straight through his heavy cotton uniform as if it were made of thin gauze. “What the fuck are we doing out here in the bushes?”

“We’re trying to keep the Vietcong from ambushing our platoon, Solo,” Finn says tightly. “That’s what the fuck we’re doing out here.”

“But they could still ambush us. They’d just have to be a little farther off the path.”

“Okay, new guy,” Finn says, sounding exasperated. “Why don’t you go explain that to Sergeant Dameron? Tell him he’s all fucked up and doesn’t know what he’s doing. See how that goes for you.”

“Maybe I will,” Ben grunts. He thinks longingly of Hux’s quiet office, of the ceiling fan and the cool breeze through the window, and of the time he had woken up to the feeling of Hux’s hand in his hair. He wonders if Hux will want to see him when he gets back. 

That night, the rain pours down on them, so heavily that it feels like a solid sheet of water. The shallow foxhole that Ben and Finn have dug for the night fills up like a swimming pool; eventually, they abandon it to lie on the wet ground wrapped in their ponchos. Ben is soaked and shivering in spite of the poncho; the smell of wet rubber and his own sour sweat fills his nose. The rain drums unceasingly on the plastic he’s pulled over his face. He pictures Hux’s bedroom - he had only been there for a few minutes, but now he remembers it with the same yearning that he feels when he thinks about going home. 

Hux has a narrow metal-framed bed, he had noticed, with crisp cotton sheets pulled into tight hospital corners. He imagines being there, wrapped around Hux from behind, pressing his face into the nape of Hux’s neck and breathing in the faint citrusy scent of whatever it is that Hux uses to style his hair. 

It feels as if he’s only been asleep for a few minutes when Finn shakes him awake to stand guard. “Your turn, Romeo,” he says. Ben looks around blearily. The rain has stopped but clouds still cover the moon; it’s very dark. Ben stands up, trying to stay awake, but then he feels too exposed. He lies back down on his stomach, propped on his rifle, still wrapped in his poncho.

Staring out into the unrelieved blackness under the trees, Ben wonders what he’s supposed to be looking for: if there were enemy soldiers sneaking up on him, would he even know? The forest isn’t silent. Trees around him creak in the wind; unknowable creatures rustle in the underbrush. Surely the Vietcong wouldn’t just crash through the forest, swinging flashlights and chatting, the way Americans tend to do. Everyone has told Ben that the Vietcong are like ghosts: they plant mines and set up booby traps and snipe soldiers from well-hidden firing positions, but you almost never see them. At Vung Tau, a soldier who was waiting to ship out had told Ben that over the course of his year in Vietnam, nearly everyone in his unit had been wounded or killed, but that he had only seen the enemy with his own eyes once. 

During basic training and onboard the troopship, Ben had listened to endless horror stories about Vietnam: about the rain; the mud; the leeches; the mosquitos that carried some kind of especially bad malaria that “basically eats your brain”; the malaria pills that, according to reliable reports from someone’s buddy, could make you hallucinate or sleepwalk naked into the mess tent; the “Bouncing Betty” mines that popped up out of the ground when you stepped on then, so that they would explode at exactly the right height to “blow off your balls.” He had thought about all of these things over and over, chewing on his lower lip, as he lay in his bunk listening to other trainees snore, and as he stared out at the flat blue waters of the South China Sea. 

But he had not expected to feel so frightened of the darkness itself, like a child who wakes to find that his nightlight has gone out. Earlier, as they struggled through the deepening shadows to their campsite, Ben had almost tripped over Finn several times in his desperation to stay close to him, to not be left behind. None of the survival skills he had learned growing up - his detailed, house-by-house knowledge of his neighborhood; his ability to look down a street and guess whether or not its inhabitants would be hostile to him; his instinct for knowing when to run from a fight and when to hit first and harder - seem to have any relevance here.

_This is the nightmare forest_ , Ben thinks, half in an anxious dream already, the edge of his helmet drooping onto the sight post of his rifle. Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness are the black woods from the stories his mother told him as a child, in her heavy Yiddish accent: the forests full of witches who eat children, dybbuks who possess men, Baba Yaga in her hut with its scaly chicken legs. 

“Bang,” someone says softly next to him, tapping on his helmet. Ben yelps and whirls around, clutching at his rifle - the person grabs the muzzle as he tries to wrestle it back. “You’re dead, Solo.”

It’s Sergeant Dameron. “You scared the crap out of me, Sergeant,” Ben gasps.

“Shhh,” Dameron says. “Solo, you need to stay awake. Give me your poncho.”

“But it’s cold and wet out here.”

“That’ll keep you awake,” Dameron whispers, yanking at his poncho. “Look, buddy, I know you’re pissed at me, but I’m trying to keep you alive. You and Finn.” Ben surrenders the poncho, resentfully. “You can have it back when you’re done with your shift on guard.”

***

In the morning they come across a small village in a clearing - the first sign of human life they’ve seen since they left the rice paddies. It appears to be deserted, except for one very old man sitting outside a hut. Chickens peck at the ground near his feet. He stares blankly at the soldiers who have suddenly appeared out of the woods.

The lieutenant, Mitaka, says something to him that Ben doesn’t understand. “Is he speaking Vietnamese?” Ben whispers to Finn. 

“He’s trying,” Finn whispers, laughing a little. “He’s been studying with a phrase book. And whenever he goes to the ville he bothers the bar girls to practice with him.”

The old man doesn’t respond, but a tiny, ferocious-looking old woman pops out of the hut, holding a stick, when she hears their voices. Mitaka repeats himself. He’s nearly a foot taller than the woman, but his voice sounds uncertain, high and quavering. Ben doesn’t need a translator to hear the contempt in the woman’s voice when she responds. 

Mitaka raises his voice, as if he’s trying to sound intimidating. She fires back at him in rapid Vietnamese, waving her stick, not at all cowed. Some of the soldiers laugh. 

It occurs to Ben, uncomfortably, that the woman reminds him of an older version of his mother. His mother is also barely more than five feet tall, but when Ben was eight years old he had watched her fight off an armed would-be mugger. The man had followed them down the hallway to their door and then reached into his jacket. Leia shoved Ben ahead of her into the apartment and then, as the man tried to push in behind her, she turned rapidly to slam the steel door on his hand. He dropped his gun and pulled away, shouting in pain. Leia locked the door behind her and leaned back against it for a moment, breathing hard. The gun still lay where it had fallen on the linoleum floor. When they heard the man’s footsteps retreating rapidly towards the stairs, Leia picked it up, turned, unlocked the door, and threw the gun after him, shouting, “Take your dirty trash with you!”

And, he supposes, she must have had her own encounters in other forests, with other armed men. He doesn’t know the details. “That isn’t a story for children,” she has always responded, whenever anyone brought up the war in Ben’s hearing. 

Eventually Mitaka turns away from the woman, who is standing stiffly in front of her husband, still clutching her stick. “I don’t think we’re going to get much out of her,” he says unhappily. “I kept asking her if she had seen any enemy soldiers, and all she said was, ‘Yes - you.’” 

Ben laughs. 

Mitaka glares at him, then turns to Sergeant Dameron. “You think we should take her in?” he asks. 

“Nah,” Dameron says. “What’s the point? So they can beat the shit out of her and get the same answer?”

“Well, she said we were the enemy. So she’s probably a Communist sympathizer.” Mitaka sounds anxious. 

“She’ll definitely be a Communist sympathizer once the interrogators get done with her.” Dameron shrugs. “She’s an old lady. Let’s just search the place and get out of here.”

“Okay,” Mitaka says, sounding relieved. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“She’s lucky Sergeant Dameron is platoon sergeant now,” Finn mutters to Ben as they poke gingerly through one of the deserted huts, trying not to trip any possible booby traps. _Where did all these people go?_ Ben wonders. The village gives him the same uneasy feeling as looking down an unaccountably desolate street at home. “That other asshole probably would’ve burned her place down for talking to the lieutenant like that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” says Ben, who is still feeling resentful about his poncho. He looks around. Third Squad has finished searching their sector and is clustered around the village well, filling their canteens and chatting. As Ben watches, one soldier pulls off his helmet and shirt and dumps a canteen over his head. His wet skin glistens in the sun. “This place gives me the creeps. You feel like that too?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, somewhat to Ben’s surprise. He had expected to be dismissed. “I’ll go talk to Sergeant Dameron about getting out of here. I don’t know where all these people went, but they probably didn’t leave because they’re planning to throw us a surprise party.”

***

In the dead of night Ben wakes to the sound of gunshots. He sits up in a panic, flailing until his hand finds his rifle. He clicks off the safety, pointing the muzzle in the direction of the noise. It sounds like firecrackers, but painfully loud and close. 

Finn grabs the barrel of Ben’s gun and yanks it skyward. “Do not start shooting! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I - “ Ben comes fully awake and realizes that he had been aiming his rifle into their own patrol base. The gunshots are behind them. Sheepishly, he clicks the safety back on. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Finn says tensely. He’s still gripping Ben’s rifle. “Some guy over there just yelled, ‘Who’s there?’ And when no one answered he opened fire. I don’t know what he saw.”

“Shouldn’t we go help them?”

“No. Not yet.”

Ben squints into the darkness, but he can’t make out anything but the muzzle flashes and the dim shapes of the trees in the moonlight. His heart pounds painfully in his chest. 

“Cease fire!” It’s Dameron’s voice. “Cease fire! Stop fucking shooting!”

“Cease fire!” Mitaka’s shriller voice echoes. The guns go quiet. 

A few minutes later, Dameron is kneeling by their foxhole. “You guys up?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Finn says. “What happened?”

“Smith got spooked by something and fired at the noise, and then his whole squad started shooting,” Dameron says, sounding exasperated. “There’s probably a very dead pig somewhere out there in the bush.”

Finn laughs. “It’s your watch, Romeo,” he says to Ben after Dameron moves on to the next fighting position. He lies down and pulls his poncho over his head. “Try not to shoot any of our guys in the back while you’re at it. And stay awake this time, in case any real VC heard that noise and want to check it out.”

“No problem,” says Ben, who has never felt more awake in his life. His heart is still pounding.

***

“What are you doing here?” Hux hisses, opening his door partway when Ben raps hopefully on it. 

A few hours earlier, they had stumbled back into camp after five days in the brush. Ben had never been so happy to be anywhere in his life. He could barely wait to wolf down dinner and get to the shower tent before going to see Hux - and then there had been the usual frustrating series of obstacles: Finn had forced the squad to clean their weapons and hang up their wet clothes and gear, and he had brought in the medic to examine their feet. When the medic saw Ben’s bleeding, blistered feet, he declared Ben in danger of developing trench foot, and insisted that Ben sit with his feet in an iodine bath for forty minutes. 

Then, when Ben was finally bandaged up and turned loose, Finn stopped him at the edge of their company area. Ben’s heart sank - but Finn only handed him a fistful of condoms. Ben looked at them, confused, for a moment before he remembered his imaginary Saigon schoolgirl.

“Be careful, Romeo,” Finn said gently. “Don’t get this nice girl in trouble.”

“Oh,” Ben said, “right. It’s okay. We’re, uh, we’re not doing anything that could get her pregnant.” That was certainly true, Ben thought, trying not to laugh. 

“Take them anyway,” Finn said. Ben shoved them in a cargo pocket. “And Solo - I know it’s a secret, but I need to know where you’re going. Which family is it? You can trust me.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He had no idea which village family might plausibly have a daughter or niece studying in Saigon. “Uh,” he said.

Finn sighed. “I know you’re trying to be a gentleman,” he said. “Be back by breakfast, okay? Or we’re all heading down to the ville to look for you.”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Ben said immediately. Hux would undoubtedly kick him out long before then, anyway, he thought. If he let Ben in at all.

As soon as Finn turned away, Ben nearly sprinted to Hux’s quarters. Somewhere out on patrol, his half-hearted determination to stay away from Hux had dissolved entirely. Whatever this was - whatever was wrong with him - was like a wave carrying him forward, a riptide that he wasn’t strong enough to fight. During his night watches his mind had returned again and again to Hux kneeling in front of him, to the remembered scent of Hux’s skin and hair. His memory of the wet heat of Hux’s mouth on him was so vivid that it was almost painful. 

Now Hux is peering at him suspiciously from behind the door. He looks as if he’s just come from the shower - he’s wearing a thin black cotton robe and his damp hair is hanging in his face. Ben desperately wants to tackle him onto the bed behind him. “Uh,” he says, trying to collect himself, “I brought your book back!” He flaps _The Street Without Joy_ at Hux. Hux takes it with a frown. “Please let me in?” he whispers. “I just got back from patrol and we’re going back out there again soon - please?”

Hux sighs as if this is all tremendously inconvenient for him, but he steps aside and gestures for Ben to come in. “It’s too late for you to be here for any sort of legitimate reason,” he says under his breath, locking the door behind Ben. “You’re going to get us both court-martialed.” 

“Good,” Ben says, reaching for him. “If I get court-martialed, doesn’t that mean I get to go home?”

“Not necessarily,” Hux says, evading his hands. He goes to the window and closes the curtains. “And you can’t just expect me to get on my knees for you every time you’ve got an evening off.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything like that,” Ben protests, although admittedly it had been on his mind. “I - I’ll get on my knees for you instead. If you want.” He hadn’t exactly meant to say that - but he has been wondering. What it would taste like, what kind of sounds Hux might make as Ben sucked him. He thinks about the way Hux’s shorts ride up over his pale inner thighs and has that feeling of being helplessly caught in a riptide again. 

Hux raises a skeptical eyebrow. “It won’t be quite so easy to pretend I’m a girl if you’re doing that.”

“Why would I - did you think that’s what I was doing?” Ben asks, somewhat taken aback.

Hux shrugs. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Ben bites his lip. “Hux - I - if I had been pretending you were a girl I wouldn’t’ve been able to get it up,” he blurts out. “I - I’ve tried, but I just can’t.” It’s a relief to finally admit this to someone, like pulling out a splinter that has been working its way deeper and deeper into his skin for years now. 

Hux looks startled. “I suppose I made - certain assumptions about you,” he says. “Do you mean to say you’d never been with anyone? Before the other day?”

“Not really - I mean, like I said, I’ve tried, with a few different girls,” Ben says miserably. “I just can’t do it. That’s why I couldn’t stay in Canada.”

Hux laughs. “You really are the most inexplicable person,” he says. “Whatever do you mean? You couldn’t stay in Canada because you’re not interested in women?”

“Yeah,” Ben says. He hadn’t meant to bring that up, either. He eyes the sliver of pale skin where Hux’s robe is falling slightly open over his chest. _Please just let me touch you_ , he thinks. “So, I went to Montreal, right? My parents gave me fifty bucks to live on until I could find a job - all they could afford. And I was hoping I could maybe get some gigs as a musician there, but everywhere I went they told me they didn’t need any more wannabe Dylans. They already had plenty.”

“So you decided to try to become a gigolo?”

“What? No! I got a job washing dishes at a bar.”

“Oh.” Hux sounds slightly disappointed. “So then what happened?”

Ben sighs. “I was staying at the cheapest hostel I could find,” he says, “and it was really awful - I had to share a room with a bunch of creepy guys, and it smelled and there were cockroaches, and I woke up to see this one guy going through my stuff while I was asleep. Anyway, I was complaining about it at work, and this waitress, this really pretty waitress, told me I could crash at her place instead.” 

“Ah.”

“Yeah. So, I kind of had a bad feeling about it, but I really wanted to get out of the hostel.” Ben rubs his hands over his face. “Anyway, I went home with her, and she was trying to kiss me and stuff, whatever - I couldn’t do it. She still let me sleep on her couch, but she was all mad and disappointed in me.”

“So you went home because of that?”

“Well, the next day - she was speaking French, but I could tell she was telling this other guy in the kitchen about what happened, and they both kept looking at me and laughing. So I asked the guy what the fuck was his problem, and he shrugged and asked me what I was going to do about it. And, uh. I wound up smashing his face into the sink. That’s why I had to leave.”

“I see,” Hux says, looking at him warily. “What did you tell your parents?”

“I, uh. Basically the truth, except I said they were saying stuff about me being a Jew, something like that. My mom was still mad that I couldn’t just stay calm and deal with it, but at least my dad seemed kind of proud of me. He said he would’ve done the same thing.” Ben sighs again, deeply. “And then a week later my induction notice came in the mail.”

“I see,” Hux says again. “I - yes. I didn’t quite realize. I assumed you’d had girlfriends before.”

“And what - that you were just - convenient or something?”

“Something like that,” Hux says, tilting his chin up challengingly at Ben. His robe slips slightly farther open. 

Ben laughs. “Hux, I think you’re the least convenient person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Hux smiles. He looks intently at Ben, something avid in his green eyes. “So what you’re saying is that you want me.”

Ben swallows hard. “Yeah. I - I do. I really do.” 

“Then show me,” Hux says. Ben takes a hesitant step towards him, but Hux waves him away. He sits down in the armchair by the small window and leans back, crossing his legs. “Take your clothes off.”

Ben blinks. “Like - like a striptease?”

Hux glances up from lighting a cigarette. “Probably best not to be too ambitious,” he says, looking amused, “unless you have a more interesting work history than you’re letting on. But let’s see what we’re working with here. Get them off.”

“Uh, okay,” Ben says. He’s accustomed to undressing in front of other people - it’s been months now since he had access to a private place to shower or change his clothes. But here, like this, with Hux’s sharp eyes on him - this is different. He begins unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Go on,” Hux says encouragingly, sucking on his cigarette, as Ben pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor. 

“Like what you see?” Ben grins, flexing his biceps. 

“Not bad,” Hux says calmly, looking him over. Ben reaches for his belt, then remembers that he still has his boots on. He hops awkwardly on one foot as he pulls them off. He starts to pull off his socks as well, but then decides to leave them on so that Hux won’t see his bandaged feet. 

He’s starting to get hard as he unbuckles his belt, his cock pressing up against his fly. Hux makes a little sound in his throat as he unbuttons his pants and kicks them off. Ben can almost feel Hux’s eyes sliding over him, like an exploring hand. “Hux,” he says urgently, “can I touch you? Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Hux says, taking another drag from his cigarette and spreading his legs, “you may.”

Ben steps forward and drops heavily to his knees between Hux’s thighs. He wants to kiss him, but Hux still has the cigarette in his mouth. Instead, Ben slides his hands into Hux’s robe, pushing it open over his narrow chest, mouthing at his neck, running his thumbs over Hux’s tiny pink nipples. Hux’s skin is very soft. He’s so slender that Ben feels enormous and clumsy by comparison.

Hux tilts his head back encouragingly. “You can pinch my nipples,” he announces, in a bored sort of way, as if it doesn’t matter to him particularly, “or bite them. I like that.” Ben moves immediately to take one in his mouth, nipping and sucking it as he pinches the other between his fingers. Hux lets out a gratifying little hiss of breath and arches his back to press his chest up against Ben’s lips. Ben’s cock throbs between his legs. 

Hux runs his soft bare foot up the inside of Ben’s thigh, teasing at Ben’s cock. Ben groans, his hips jerking. Hux laughs softly. “I do love how easy it is to get you excited,” he remarks. He flicks open his robe and pushes Ben’s head down with the hand that isn’t holding his cigarette. “Go on, then. Don’t scratch me with your teeth.”

Ben breathes in shakily and then slides his lips carefully down over the head of Hux’s cock. He likes the taste, he decides, as he explores it with his tongue - clean and salty, faintly bitter. And he definitely likes the way Hux gasps as he sucks it more fully into his mouth. “Mmm, that’s good,” Hux sighs, stroking Ben’s hair. His short nails scratch deliciously over Ben’s scalp. “You’re doing so well.” His cock pulses in Ben’s mouth as Ben sucks harder, encouraged. 

Hux is still rubbing his foot up and down the shaft of Ben’s erection, and between that and the praise and the sounds Hux is making, Ben feels as if he might go off himself at any moment. He wonders if Hux will be annoyed if he does. He pictures his come all over Hux’s feet, and Hux ordering him to clean it up - with his tongue, maybe. The idea sends a hot shiver through him. 

Partly to distract himself, he reaches up to pinch at Hux’s nipples with both hands. Hux lets out a choked sound and thrusts up hard into Ben’s mouth. Ben pulls off, coughing and gagging. “Sorry,” Hux pants, finally stubbing out his cigarette. Ben lowers his head and goes back to sucking him, determined to figure out how to do this right. “Fuck, that’s good... don’t stop.”

“Mmm,” Ben responds happily, bobbing his head up and down. Hux is squirming in his chair now, gripping Ben’s head with both hands, making little frantic noises. _This is all I want to do, every day, forever,_ Ben thinks, deliriously. 

“Oh - fuck - I’m close - “ Hux tries to wriggle away, but Ben holds onto him, still sucking him enthusiastically as Hux’s hips spasm. “Ah!” Ben manages to swallow most of the sudden gush of salty liquid that fills his mouth. Some trickles down his chin. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and licks his lips, feeling pleased with himself as he looks up at Hux. Hux is breathing hard, collapsed against the back of the chair, his mouth open and his eyes half-closed. His pale skin is flushed pink now, framed by the black fabric of his open robe. 

_He looks beautiful_ , Ben thinks. He looks like everything Ben has been trying not to want for as long as he can remember. _Well, fuck that. Fuck all of that, who cares?_

Hux reaches up and stretches luxuriantly. Ben lets out a little squeak as his foot brushes Ben’s cock. Hux opens his eyes and smiles. “Feeling neglected?” he asks, flexing the sole of his foot against the length of Ben’s erection. Ben whimpers; it’s nearly too much. “Go lie down on the bed.”

Ben obeys immediately, watching as Hux shrugs off his robe and lies down between Ben’s legs, propping himself up on his elbows. He kisses the tip of Ben’s cock, licking delicately at the wetness there. Ben squirms on the bed, panting. “Does this mean you liked sucking my cock?” Hux asks, sweetly. “Liked swallowing my come?”

“I loved it,” Ben admits. His voice sounds hoarse. “I really loved it - Hux, please - “

“Excellent - I may let you do it again at some point,” Hux says, kissing his way down the shaft of Ben’s cock. He mouths at Ben’s pulled-tight balls, and Ben groans. His cock is so hard it aches. “And please what? Tell me. But don’t be too loud.”

“Please suck me - I need it - I missed you. Hux, I really missed you - “

“I missed your big cock in my mouth,” Hux says, and Ben feels those words thrum through him as Hux sucks him down. 

“Oh fuck,” Ben gasps, trying not to thrust up into that perfect suction, “oh fuck - that’s so good - oh my god - “

Hux hums happily around Ben’s cock, his face blissful. He rubs his thumb against the sensitive spot behind Ben’s balls in almost exactly the way Ben likes to do to himself when he’s jerking off - something that Ben half-thought he’d invented - and Ben can’t hold out any longer. He jams his fist against his mouth to muffle a shout as he shudders through the heat of his orgasm. Hux swallows again and again. 

“Oh wow,” Ben sighs, reaching for Hux. This time Hux allows himself to be pulled up and kissed. Ben cradles Hux’s head in both hands as he slides his tongue into Hux’s mouth, tasting salt and the smoke of Hux’s cigarette, feeling how soft his hair is without the gel. Hux breaks the kiss and Ben braces himself to be told to go - but, to his surprise, Hux lays his head down on Ben’s chest and relaxes against him. Ben has that feeling again from the forest, that he’s somehow wandered into one of the stories he remembers from childhood, except that in this one he’s been magically plucked out of the dark woods and given everything he’s ever wanted. 

“Hux,” he says sleepily, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Hux laughs. Then he glances up at Ben’s face and looks alarmed. “You’re not serious?”

Ben shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “Maybe.” Something about the dim lamplight and Ben’s post-orgasmic haze makes him feel as if he’s stepped out of time, into a place where he can say anything, admit to any secret.

Hux shakes his head. “Don’t be absurd,” he says. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Nineteen.”

“You’re nineteen and you’ve just recently had your cock sucked for the first time,” Hux says briskly. “That’s all it is.”

_What if it isn’t, though?_ Ben thinks. “I was just joking, anyway,” he says hastily.

Hux looks relieved. “Good,” he says. “For a moment I was afraid you might have turned out to be significantly more ridiculous than I thought you were. And I already thought you were quite ridiculous.” He pats Ben’s chest soothingly and leans over to click off the small lamp on the nightstand. “Go to sleep. If you stay until morning, it’ll be easier to pretend that you had an errand here before first formation. In case anyone sees you leaving.”

Hux’s response doesn’t feel quite as much like a rejection as maybe it should, Ben reflects, especially when Hux settles down against his chest with a little contented sigh. _At least he’s letting me stay the night_ , he thinks drowsily. After Ben’s week in the field Hux’s clean cotton sheets feel almost as good as the earlier blowjob. He clutches Hux close to him and is almost immediately asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Period-typical racism/sexism: before I started writing this story, I decided not to try to accurately reproduce the casual, blatant racism that was more or less universal among the American soldiers of the time. I’m happy to discuss this decision further if anyone has questions or concerns. That said, this chapter contains references to bar girls, to an imaginary Saigon schoolgirl, and one use of a slur (“whores”) that reflect the racist, sexist stereotypes American soldiers commonly held about Vietnamese women.  
> \- Violence: there’s no actual violence in this chapter, but there are references to some of Ben’s fears about Vietnam, which include mines and snipers, and there’s a flashback to Ben’s childhood memory of watching Leia fight off an armed robber. There’s also a description of Ben’s platoon searching a Vietnamese village that could be upsetting to read.  
> \- Period-typical homophobia: not directly discussed at much length in this chapter, but it continues to shape the atmosphere and the way the characters behave.  
> \- Power imbalance: if you are a lieutenant (or any kind of military officer) please do not sleep with nineteen-year-old privates. Do not try this at home, do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to jail.  
> \- Sex: for anyone who read Destination Unknown, you will be very surprised to find that this chapter, once again, includes Hux ordering Ben to strip and get on his knees. Sorry, it’s basically my brand at this point. 😂
> 
> Acknowledgements: I’m not sure if he would appreciate being acknowledged in this context, but this story draws heavily on David Maraniss’ excellent book “They Marched Into Sunlight: War and Peace, Vietnam and America, October 1967,” which I highly recommend if you’d like to read an account of this time and place that isn’t 50% porn. This chapter includes two direct quotes from soldiers who were quoted in that book (the soldiers’ description of the Lai Khe hamlet and Finn’s comment about the water buffalo).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags and see endnotes for detailed content warnings.

“Hux - it’s me - please let me in - “

Hux opens the door, frowning. “You again,” he says. “And tonight you’re covered in mud.” He wrinkles his nose. “Couldn’t you at least stop by the shower tent before you come here?”

Ben pushes his way into Hux’s room, kicks the door shut behind him, and wraps his arms around Hux, pressing his face into Hux’s hair. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a sob. He snuffles wetly against the side of Hux’s neck. 

“What on earth - “ Hux pats him gingerly on the shoulder. “There, there.” He tries to pull away, but Ben hangs on to him tightly. “I - er - I’ll fetch you a cup of tea from the kitchen.”

“I don’t want tea. Don’t leave.”

“It will make you feel better,” Hux says, very firmly, and Ben reluctantly lets go of him. After he steps out into the hallway Ben looks around for somewhere to sit, but he doesn’t want Hux to shout at him for getting the bed or the armchair dirty. He sits down heavily on the wooden floor, rubbing at his sweaty, tear-streaked face with his grubby hands. 

Hux comes back a few minutes later with a delicate pink-and-gilt teapot and a matching cup on a little scalloped tray. The round belly of the teapot is wrapped in a white knitted thing, as if it’s wearing a tiny sweater. “Let it steep,” he says sternly, as if Ben might otherwise lunge at it and begin drinking it straight from the spout. He sets the tray down on the nightstand. “I’ll get some water, too, so that you can wash up. You smell terrible.”

“Thanks,” Ben says. “Nice teapot, by the way.”

“It’s French,” Hux says, darkly, as if this explains anything. He pulls a white basin out from under the bed, takes it out into the hallway, and comes back with water and a bar of soap. “Here. Wash your hands at least.”

Ben does so, obediently, splashing some on his face as well; the water immediately turns brown. He dries his hands on his pants, which mostly negates the effect of having washed them. 

Hux pours him a cup of tea and hands it to him, then sits down, cross-legged, on the floor next to him. “Sorry I haven’t got any milk or sugar,” he says. Ben takes a cautious sip. Hux is wearing a thin undershirt and striped pajama pants; his nipples are faint pinkish shadows against the white cotton. There are smudges of dirt on his shirt where he had been pressed against Ben. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s gone wrong?” He sounds rather as if he’s hoping that Ben won’t want to talk about it.

Ben takes a gulp of the tea, which burns the back of his throat. He coughs. “Smith - this kid in my platoon - stepped on a mine today.”

“Oh.” Hux grimaces slightly. “Did he survive?”

“Yeah.” Ben feels tears welling up again. “But it blew off his foot and just - just shredded his leg.” His voice sounds hoarse and scratchy. “Hux - I saw the _inside_ of his leg. It looked like raw meat.”

“Well, I suppose that’s what we all are,” Hux says, reflectively, “in the end.”

Ben hears himself let out a sudden, slightly hysterical giggle. “Hux, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re kind of shitty at comforting people.”

Hux glares at him. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done that could possibly have led you to expect anything else.”

Ben laughs. “Fair enough.” He looks down into his tea. His hands are shaking. “It was just - it was actually pretty cool, pretty okay, until then. They told us there was going to be some kind of Vietcong unit moving down this trail, so we went out there to set up an ambush. And then nothing happened. At first we were all watching for them, really tense and everything, but then we got bored and started playing cards and napping and stuff. I even had time to set up a little hooch to sleep in. It was like a picnic.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “If the enemy unit was ever on that trail, their scouts probably heard you from miles away and told them to take a different route.”

Ben shrugs. “Fine by me. Anyway, they never showed. So on the third day they told us we could start heading back. We’d only been walking for about half an hour when I heard this _pop_ up ahead, like a balloon.” He winces. “Then everyone started screaming.” 

“So you didn’t see it happen?”

“No. But I was helping to carry the litter, for a while. It took forever to get to a clearing where the helicopter could come down to get him.” Ben takes a deep, shuddering breath. “He screamed every time we took a step, it was horrible. Eventually the medic got some morphine into him and he shut up.”

“Is he a particular friend of yours?”

“No. He’s just this dumb kid who’s always yelling about how he’s from Texas. I actually almost shot him by accident on my first patrol.” 

“Did you, now?” Hux looks more interested in this part of the story than in anything else Ben has said. 

“Yeah, long story.” Ben sniffles. “Hux, I can’t go back out there. I can’t keep doing this.”

Hux pats his back. “Drink your tea.” 

Ben finishes the rest of his cup in one swallow. “I just - I want to go home.”

“You’ll feel better if you get cleaned up,” Hux says. “Wait here.” He leaves with the basin again and comes back with clean water, some towels, and a brilliant green tube of Prell. He sets the basin down on the floor. “Take off your shirt. I’ll wash your hair.”

Ben laughs. “Seriously? I figured you were just going to kick me out to go shower back at my company area.”

Hux’s nose twitches irritably. “If you prefer that option, you’re certainly free to go.”

“Oh no, go ahead,” Ben says hastily, tugging off his mud-encrusted shirt. “How do you want to do this?”

“Turn around. And lean back over the basin.”

Ben leans back awkwardly on his elbows, tipping his head back to look at Hux upside down. “Like this?”

“That will do.” 

Ben closes his eyes as Hux pours cool water from his cupped hands over Ben’s head, and then begins to work the shampoo through his short hair. Ben sighs. “That feels so good.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Hux says, but he massages Ben’s scalp for longer than hygiene would seem to demand. Ben’s toes curl happily inside his boots. 

“Don’t worry,” Ben says. “I didn’t think you were volunteering to be, I don’t know, my bath-servant forever.” He opens his eyes and grins at Hux. The hollowed-out feeling in the center of him is beginning to recede as Hux strokes his hair. “Although that would be fun.”

“Maybe for you,” Hux says, dumping water over Ben’s head to rinse it and rubbing it dry with a towel. “Take your filthy boots off too so I can wash your feet.”

“Really?” Ben sits up. Water trickles down his back and he shivers slightly. “Hux, you don’t have to do that. My feet are gross.”

“That’s why I need to make sure they’re clean.”

“Uh, I guess. If you want.” Hesitantly, Ben pulls off his boots, wincing at the smell. He isn’t wearing socks, since they seem to invariably become soaked and impossible to dry in the field. “I mean, I can do it.”

“Put your feet in the basin,” Hux orders. Reluctantly, Ben turns around and puts his feet in the water. He lies down and looks up at the ceiling, embarrassed, as Hux lathers his feet with soap. A tiny green gecko is silently making its way from one corner of the ceiling to the other. The polished wooden floor feels pleasantly dry and smooth under Ben’s bare back. “You need to take better care of your feet,” Hux says sternly. “Blisters are an idiotic reason to become non-mission-capable.”

“Blisters are a _great_ reason to be non-mission-capable,” Ben argues. “If I get to stay here and not get blown up because of a blister, that sounds like a dream come true to me.”

“Except they won’t let you stay here. You’ll still be walking on it, but you’ll be in pain.” Hux presses his thumbs into the arches of Ben’s sore feet, and Ben groans.

“That feels amazing,” he says. “Hux, I know you said I was ridiculous when I told you I was falling in love with you, but doing stuff like that isn’t helping.”

“Don’t start that nonsense again.”

“Okay.” Ben closes his eyes in order to fully focus on the feeling of Hux rubbing his feet. “Hux?”

“What now?”

“Can I call you something other than ‘Hux’? It feels weird to call you by your last name like you’re just one of the guys in my squad.”

“Everyone calls me Hux.”

“Well, exactly. I mean, what about your family? Aren’t you all Huxes? Do you just call each other, like, Hux One and Hux Two?” Ben giggles.

“My father and his wife call me Armitage,” Hux says evenly, not laughing, “which is exactly why I don’t want you to call me that.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ben wonders if he’s allowed to ask more questions about this. “Is that, uh. Do you not get along well with them?”

“We get on brilliantly now we’re on opposite sides of the world.” Hux’s tone suggests strongly that he does not, in fact, want to be asked about this. “Put your feet on that towel. I’m going to go get clean water.”

“Okay,” Ben says. “What about ‘Armie’? Could I call you that?”

“Ugh,” Hux says, standing up. “You can always go back to addressing me properly by my military rank if you’re so bothered by ‘Hux.’”

“Okay, okay.” Hux carries the basin out into the hallway and closes the door. Ben stretches out on the floor with a sigh, half-asleep already. From outside, a warm, humid breeze ruffles the curtains. The ceiling gecko begins to chirp. 

“Stand up,” Hux says sharply, coming back into the room. “Take off those disgusting trousers.” 

Ben laughs. “You do like ordering me to take off my clothes.”

“If you don’t like it you can put the rest of your uniform back on and go sleep in your tent. I’m not having you in my bed filthy and unwashed.”

“I never said I didn’t like it,” Ben protests. He unbuckles his belt and yanks off his trousers as he stands up. Now fully naked except for his dog tags, he puts his hands on his hips and smirks at Hux. “Happy now?”

Hux purses his lips, but his eyes move over Ben’s body in a way that suggests he isn’t entirely disgusted. “I’ll be happy once you’re less of a hazard to the public health.” He sets the basin of water down in front of Ben. “Stand in that.”

Ben steps into it. “Now what?”

“Now I can clean off the rest of you.” Hux dips a washcloth into the water and steps behind Ben. He scrubs the washcloth roughly over Ben’s back. “You’re so - large and dirty,” he says, in a tone that wants to be a complaint but doesn’t quite succeed. “It’s like washing a circus elephant.”

Ben grins. “I do have a big trunk.”

“Yes, your nose is enormous, that’s true.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Yes, I know,” Hux says, flicking him sharply with the washcloth, “but I thought it might be more polite to ignore your crude attempts at humor.” 

“I think you like it when I’m crude.” 

“You don’t seem to think much at all.” Hux kneels down behind Ben and begins washing his legs, massaging the tight muscles in his calves and thighs as he goes. It feels wonderful. “At least you seem to be in better spirits now.”

“Yeah, that feels really good,” Ben sighs. He looks down at Hux. “Do you always take sponge baths? I would’ve figured officers would have showers.”

“We do. I usually use this basin to soak my feet in Epsom salts at the end of the day.”

Ben laughs. “Yeah, you must get really sore sitting at that desk.”

Hux smacks his ass with a wet hand. He moves around to Ben’s front. “Some of us happen to care about our personal hygiene.”

“Your feet _are_ really soft and nice,” Ben says, remembering how they had felt teasing at his cock while he was sucking Hux off. In spite of the cool water, his body is reacting predictably to Hux’s touch and to the sight of Hux kneeling in front of him. Hux is ignoring it. 

“Because I take care of myself.” Hux stands up and begins rubbing soap over Ben’s chest, squeezing Ben’s pecs with both hands. His hip brushes against Ben’s cock and Ben lets out a hiss. 

“Hux - can you - please - “

“Oh, is this causing you problems again?” Hux asks innocently, reaching down to slide a soapy hand up and down the length of Ben’s cock. 

Ben clutches at Hux’s shoulders, leaving wet handprints on his shirt, thrusting into his fist. He whimpers as Hux lathers soap over his balls, rolling them gently in his other hand. “Fuck - that feels good - don’t stop - “

“In all honesty,” Hux says, still fondling him, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be in the mood for this tonight.” He laughs. “I suppose I underestimated you.”

“I blame you,” Ben pants. “I’m pretty sure I could be half-dead and I’d still get hard for you.”

“Mmm, good,” Hux says, looking pleased. He has both hands on Ben’s cock now, sliding one up the length of it, then following it with the other, over and over again. Ben gasps for air; his knees feel weak. “There are quite a lot of things I still want you to do to me with this big cock of yours.”

“Yeah? Like what?” 

“Hmm,” Hux says, thoughtfully. “I want you to fuck me, for one thing.”

Ben gulps. That was something he had barely let himself think about, something he really only knows about from locker-room jokes. “I want that too,” he whispers. His cock throbs in Hux’s hands. “You - you like that?”

Hux smiles at him. He leans in to run his tongue around the rim of Ben’s earlobe. “I love it,” he says huskily in Ben’s ear. “I’ll have to teach you how to use this massive thing properly.”

“Yeah - please - “

“Would you want me on my hands and knees? Or on my back with my legs spread for you?” Ben looks down to watch Hux’s soapy hands moving on his cock and sees that Hux is hard, too, straining against the front of his thin pajamas. “Maybe bent over my desk?”

Ben groans. “Whatever - however you want it - “

“Good answer,” Hux says, nibbling at Ben’s ear. “And you’re so big - I could probably come just from feeling your cock inside me.”

“Oh - fuck!” Ben’s body goes rigid as his cock spurts into Hux’s hands. Some splashes onto Hux’s shirt. He sags against Hux, panting into his neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“You’re getting me all wet and soapy,” Hux complains, pushing Ben away, but he sounds pleased. He rinses off his hands in the basin and turns away to get a towel. Ben hastily wipes most of the soap off himself with the damp washcloth and stumbles out of the basin, leaving wet footprints on the floor. “What are you - _oh_.” 

Ben is already on his knees and reaching for Hux, tugging down the waistband of his pajamas and drawing out his cock. Hux lets out a squeak as Ben sucks it fully into his mouth. He clutches at Ben’s head. “Ah!”

Ben sucks harder, squeezing Hux’s round little ass with both hands. He pictures Hux naked on his hands and knees, or bent over his desk, coming all over himself as Ben fucks him. In spite of his exhaustion his cock jerks at the idea.

“Oh - Jesus,” Hux groans. He lets go of Ben to pull off his shirt. Ben glances up and sees that Hux is pinching at his own nipples as Ben sucks him, tugging at them and rolling them between his fingers. His lips are parted and his face is very pink. The sight sends another hot throb through Ben. “Fuck, that’s good. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got perfect cock-sucking lips?”

Ben has, in fact, heard variants of that remark before - mostly when he was younger and smaller, before he developed a reputation for breaking people’s noses. But it sounds very different coming from Hux. “Mmm,” he responds, a little embarrassed by how much he’s enjoying this. 

Remembering what Hux had done to him, Ben reaches between Hux’s legs to stroke his balls and massage the spot behind them with his thumb. “ _Fuck_ ,” Hux gasps, “you’re getting so good at this - I’ve created a monster - “ A moment later, he’s doubled over, panting, as he comes in Ben’s mouth.

Hux pulls his pants back up and flops onto the bed, still flush-faced and breathing hard. He fends Ben off with one foot when Ben tries to lie down next to him. “At least make sure you’re dry first,” he scolds. “Damp bed-sheets are terrible.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben says solemnly, as he towels off, “I know what you mean. When I’m out there sleeping in the mud I always think to myself, ‘Gee, it must be awful to have to sleep indoors, in a real bed that’s slightly damp.’”

Hux rolls his eyes as he makes room for Ben on the mattress. “Don’t let me stop you from going back to your tent if you feel that the level of luxury in here is excessive.”

“I think you might stop me, actually,” Ben says, climbing in behind Hux and curling around him. “I think you like having me here, even if you won’t admit it.”

“You do have certain uses,” Hux acknowledges. Something about the way he says this makes Ben feels perhaps unreasonably pleased with himself. They lie breathing quietly together.

“I was just thinking,” Ben says drowsily, after a moment, “I don’t know why people use ‘cocksucker’ as an insult. It’s actually a really great skill to have.”

“You know, Benjamin,” Hux responds, sounding as if he might be trying not to laugh, “it’s not necessary to voice every thought that happens to come into your head.” 

***

“I need a volunteer,” Sergeant Dameron says, two days later, as the platoon is forming up to leave on patrol. It’s early morning; the pale sky over the rice paddies looks like one of the watercolor postcards they sell to soldiers in the ville. 

No one answers. Ben looks at his boots. 

Dameron sighs. “It’s not that bad,” he says. “I just need someone to babysit this British lieutenant who’s coming with us today.” Ben’s head snaps up. “Apparently he’s writing a book about Vietnam or something.”

“I’ll do it,” Ben says immediately. _How many British lieutenants could there be at Lai Khe, anyway?_ he reasons. 

“Not you, Solo,” Dameron says. “You’re almost as green as he is.” 

“Why doesn’t he just go with Lieutenant Mitaka?” someone asks, from the back of the formation. 

Dameron shrugs. “He says he wants to get a real rifleman’s perspective on the war.” 

A few soldiers laugh. “Tell him to ask Smith for a real fucking rifleman’s perspective,” Z mutters nearby. Ben winces. 

No one else volunteers. “All right, Solo, he’s all yours,” Dameron says. “Try not to shoot each other in the dark, okay?”

“Yes Sergeant,” Ben says, trying not to sound too excited about this assignment.

Hux turns up a few minutes later, wearing starched fatigues and perfectly-shined boots, and carrying an enormous rucksack. Most of the soldiers have stripped their packs down to the bare essentials (and, on previous patrols, Finn and Dameron have had to stop some of them from throwing away extra ammo that they were too tired to carry) but Hux seems to have conscientiously packed the full issue of field gear. The soldiers stare at him curiously. There are a few snickers. 

_At least he isn’t wearing shorts_ , Ben thinks. It would have been a pleasant distraction for Ben, probably, but difficult to explain to the rest of the platoon. And the mosquitoes would have eaten him alive. 

“Morning, sir,” Finn says briskly, coming up behind Ben. “We’re doing a sweep through the three villages in the direction of Quan Loi. Do you have a map?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Hux says, looking through Ben as if he isn’t there. “I spoke to Lieutenant Mitaka about the route this morning.”

“Hi,” Ben says loudly, annoyed that Hux is ignoring him. Finn glances at him. “Sir,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“Oh, yeah,” Finn says. “Sir, this is Private Solo. He volunteered to be your battle buddy for this mission. But he’s my ammo carrier, so you’ll both be with me.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Hux says flatly. “Thank you both for accommodating me on such short notice.”

“No problem,” Finn says. 

As the platoon begins to move out towards the gate, Ben drops back a little to talk to Hux. “Hey,” he says softly, “don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you, but I wish you’d just stay here and I’ll see you in a few days - “

“Trust me, I didn’t come on this patrol because I couldn’t bear to be parted from you,” Hux whispers back angrily. “Not everything I do is about you. And it was very foolish of you to volunteer to be my partner for this.”

“Oh right,” Ben says, stung, “of all the platoons in the U.S. Army, you just happened to ask to come along with mine - “

“Keep your voice down,” Hux hisses. “And it had nothing to do with you. Lieutenant Mitaka invited me - he’s a friend of mine. I met him at the Sandhurst competition at West Point when we were cadets.”

“Cool,” Ben whispers, feeling a sudden flash of fury at Hux’s coldness. “You sucking his dick too?”

Hux glares at him. “What is wrong with you today?” 

“Sorry,” Ben mutters. He takes a deep breath. “I’m just saying - I told you what happened to Smith. Why don’t you stay here where it’s safe?”

Hux sighs. “Benjamin,” he says softly, “I’m not your wife. I’m an infantry officer. You’ve been a pleasant diversion, but I’m not here just to make you tea and fetch your slippers when you come back from the war.”

“I didn’t ask you to do any of that,” Ben says, getting angry again. “And I sure as shit wouldn’t be out here if I had any choice about it. _You_ have a choice.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I chose to come to Vietnam in the first place, if you recall. Now hush.”

Ben glances up to see that Finn is looking quizzically at them over his shoulder. “You two know each other?” Finn asks. 

“No,” Hux says, just as Ben says, “Yeah.” Hux looks at Ben in exasperation. 

“I, uh,” Ben says, “I ran into him at the brigade headquarters when I first got here.”

Finn frowns. “Why were you at the brigade headquarters?”

“He was lost,” Hux says, before Ben can respond. “I helped him find his way back.”

Finn shakes his head. “You really do get around, don’t you, Solo.”

***

Ben watches the back of Hux’s neck redden in the sun as they pick their way across the rice paddies. It’s slow going: after the incident with Smith, Sergeant Dameron tracked down a metal detector, but no one seems to be sure what to do when it goes off for the first time. The soldiers back hastily away from the spot; then someone throws a rock at it. Eventually, fifteen minutes of cautious poking at the soft mud with a long stick unearths a rusty tin can. 

After the third false alarm, Sergeant Dameron takes the metal detector and switches it off. “Just look out for dirt that looks like it’s been dug up recently,” he says, as they get into the treeline. “Or wires stretched across the path.” Ben moves protectively in front of Hux, trying to put his feet exactly where Finn had previously stepped. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Hux is doing the same. By the time they pause for breakfast, Ben’s eyes ache from scanning every patch of ground for something that might kill him. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks Hux, as they sit down on a rock to eat. He thinks of Hux’s soft, pretty feet, and wonders how they’re holding up to this long march through the muck. Hux is currently squinting at the directions on the back of one of the heat tabs they use to make the C-rations slightly more palatable. “I can help carry some of that shit you brought if it’s getting too heavy.”

Hux’s sunburned nose twitches irritably. “Thank you, Private Solo, but I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own rucksack.”

Ben wants to throw something at him. Instead he heats up his own breakfast and watches silently as Hux does the same. Hux’s C-ration is ham and lima beans, one of the least popular options, which Ben personally finds nauseating even to look at. But Hux spoons it into his mouth methodically, without complaint. 

Halfway through breakfast Ben tries again. “So whatever happened to that paper you were writing? Did you end up giving it to the general?”

Hux glances around, as if this question might expose an inappropriate level of intimacy between himself and Ben. “I did give it to his aide, but I don’t know if he ever read it. I haven’t heard anything in response.” He sighs, then brightens slightly. “But at least the trip did give me a chance to talk to a very interesting Marine battalion commander about some of my ideas. He was really quite fascinating.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben says, beginning to be annoyed again. “What was so _fascinating_ about him?”

Hux looks amused by Ben’s irritation. “Professionally fascinating,” he says, and Ben relaxes slightly. “We were discussing the details of the Marines’ Combined Action Program, which is much closer to what I think the Army should be doing as well.”

“Why, what are they doing?”

“The Marines have infantry squads living amongst the people they’re protecting - they’re assigned to a Vietnamese hamlet and they live there, they work with the people to protect them from the Vietcong, they - “

“You want us to move out here permanently?” Ben says, aghast. “No thanks, it’s bad enough when it’s a few days at a time.”

“I suppose you prefer stumbling through minefields to no purpose,” Hux snaps. Then he glances at Finn. “My apologies, I don’t mean to be disrespectful about your operations here.”

Finn shrugs. “You can disrespect our operations all day long for all I care, sir. None of this shit is my idea.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Ben says. “I don’t want to stumble through minefields and I don’t want to live out here with a bunch of villagers who hate us, either. I just don’t see why we need to be here at all.”

“Because if you leave then South Vietnam will fall to the Communists,” Hux says, in a tone that suggests he’s explaining something very obvious to a small child. “And it may take the rest of Southeast Asia with it.”

“So what?” Ben says, mostly because he’s enjoying needling Hux. “Seems to me like it’ll take the Communists a long time to swim to New York from here. Anyway, my mother says the Vietnamese people have a right to self-expression. If they want to be Communists, who cares?”

“Oh yes, the Communists are wonderful at promoting self-expression,” Hux snaps. “You should talk to some of the refugees who’ve fled the North for Saigon. Ask how much _self-expression_ they had under Communism.”

Finn is looking from one of them to the other as if he finds them both very ridiculous. “Wish I had the right to self-expression,” he says. “I’d self-express myself right out of this jungle. Anyhow, break’s over. Pack it up and let’s go.”

***

They reach the first village in the early afternoon. Mitaka tries out his Vietnamese on a few of the villagers, but they only stare at him suspiciously in response. Even the children seem to be looking at them resentfully, Ben thinks. 

“No military-age men,” Hux comments softly to Ben, as they poke under a sack of rice in one of the huts. “Even the young women are gone. It’s all children and old people.” 

“Yeah,” Ben says. “I know what you were saying before, about protecting them and whatever. But I sure as shit wouldn’t want to be here at night.”

Hux doesn’t seem interested in arguing the point. “Cigarette?” he offers, as they step outside.

It seems like a peace offering, possibly, especially when Hux bends towards Ben to light Ben’s cigarette with his own. Ben breathes in the smoke gratefully. “Sorry I was being such a dick earlier,” he says. 

Hux frowns. “You’re entitled to your political opinions,” he says, “however absurd I may find them - but your remark about Lieutenant Mitaka was entirely uncalled-for.”

“I know,” Ben says, beginning to feel frustrated again. “That’s why I’m apologizing.” Hux sucks on his cigarette and stares off into the distance without responding. Ben glances around: none of the other soldiers are within earshot. “I just - I don’t know what we’re doing. What this is. You know?”

“This isn’t the place to discuss it,” Hux says tightly, “but I already told you at the start - this isn’t a romantic liaison.”

“Yeah,” Ben says bleakly, “you did say something like that.” A shout goes up from one of the huts in the distance: one of the soldiers has found something, it seems.

“Well,” Hux says, stubbing out his cigarette and walking towards the noise, “then we understand each other.”

_I understand that I’m a fucking idiot_ , Ben thinks, trailing unhappily after Hux. The back of Hux’s neck is now nearly as red as his hair. The sun is directly overhead and very hot.

A soldier named Gonzalez, it turns out, has discovered an “enemy weapon” hidden under a pile of mats in one of the huts: a rusty, handmade-looking rifle. Most of it seems to be made of wood; the heat guard on the barrel looks like it might once have been the exhaust pipe of a car. To Ben it looks like a museum exhibit, like something that he might have seen as a child during a boring school field trip to a Revolutionary War site. But Mitaka seems excited about it. He and Hux pass it back and forth, peering at it from different angles and discussing its possible provenance. 

“Guess he gets to put that in his report to headquarters now,” Z whispers to Ben with a laugh. “‘Found and destroyed a Vietcong weapons cache.’ Maybe if he calls it in to the battalion they’ll send us all hot dogs and ice cream tonight.”

***

The hoped-for hot dogs and ice cream do not materialize - only the usual late-afternoon rain, which continues to fall heavily on them until well after nightfall. Even on the path, the mud sucks at their boots; for the squads thrashing through the treeline on either side, the rain turns the dense underbrush into a nearly impassable swamp. Hux, especially, is struggling; his enormous ruck is considerably wider than his narrow shoulders and it catches at every bramble and vine. Finn and Ben take turns hacking at the brush with a machete, trying to clear a path. 

Eventually, in the interests of getting somewhere near their intended campsite by nightfall, Dameron pulls all the squads back onto the path. They move in single file as the sun sets, trying to keep five meters apart, so that if one of them steps on a mine it won’t take out the soldiers before and after him. But as it grows darker, Ben begins to feel his usual sense of panic about the possibility of being left behind. Finn repeatedly snarls at him to stay back and maintain his intervals.

“I feel like that’s what scares me the most,” Ben says to Hux, later, as they’re digging their foxhole for the night. The rain has dwindled to a slow, steady dripping through the trees. “Getting lost and left behind out here. You know?”

“It’s because of your primate ancestry,” Hux says, chopping at a tough root with the tip of his shovel. “It’s natural. You’re like a chimpanzee that fears being separated from the troop and eaten.”

Ben laughs. “Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I’m not trying to reassure you. I’m offering a scientific explanation.”

“Sir, I hate to interrupt you while you’re comparing Solo to a monkey,” Finn says softly, “but would you mind keeping it down? You two are loud as hell.”

“Sorry,” Ben whispers. 

Later, while Finn takes the first shift on guard, the rain picks up again. The night is surprisingly cold. Ben, leaning against the side of the foxhole in his poncho, feels Hux shivering next to him. He reaches out in the darkness to touch Hux’s cold hand. “Hux,” he whispers. “Come here.”

“We can’t,” Hux whispers back.

“It’s fine. Let me keep you warm. No one will care.” Ben has woken up, on several previous nights, to see Dameron wrapped around Finn in a way that always makes him miss Hux intensely. No one seems to think anything of it. Sometimes Ben has wondered about the way they look at each other - but then again, he might be imagining things. “Just come here.”

“Oh all right,” Hux says, standing up, as if this is a tremendous concession. Ben grabs Hux’s wrist and tugs him down to sit between Ben’s legs. He wraps his poncho around both of them. Hux squirms around for a moment, trying to get comfortable, then leans back against Ben’s chest with a sigh. Ben bends his head to kiss the nape of Hux’s neck in the darkness. Somehow, in spite of the sweat and the dirt, the fine hair there still smells sweet.

With the two of them sharing it, Ben’s poncho feels like a warm bubble of comfort and safety, even as the rain continues to beat down on them. _I should write a song about this,_ Ben thinks, dreamily, as Hux gradually stops shivering and relaxes into sleep in his arms. But the only words he can think of are from one of the cadences he learned to chant mindlessly in basic training: _oh honey, oh baby, you’re mine... you’re mine, you’re mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Violence: at the beginning of the chapter, Ben is distraught because one of the soldiers in his platoon stepped on a mine during their last patrol. He describes the injury to Hux in fairly graphic detail. 
> 
> \- Homophobia: during sex Hux makes a comment about Ben’s “cocksucking lips” and Ben thinks briefly about having heard homophobic remarks like that before, and he makes a joke (sort of) about it later. No actual homophobic incidents described. 
> 
> \- Sex: a soapy handjob, a blowjob, dirty talk - nothing very shocking, aside from the fact that Hux is a Very Problematic Officer for doing any of this with a junior enlisted soldier. 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments on previous chapters! You guys are the best.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see endnotes for detailed chapter warnings.

“Hux? Can I ask you something?”

“I imagine I probably won’t be able to stop you.”

Ben takes a deep breath. Hux is curled against his chest; the room smells like them, like sweat and sex. Earlier in the evening Hux had knelt in front of Ben and sucked his cock until he was whimpering and clutching at Hux’s hair, and then he had pulled off and ordered Ben to come on his face. Ben had not previously known that this was a thing that people did, but now the memory of Hux’s flushed face dripping with his come is still echoing hotly through him. “I just - you know how we’re going to Vung Tau for a couple of weeks - “

“Yes, what about it?”

“I, uh.” 

“Yes?” Hux says testily. “Get on with it. While we’re still young.”

“I just - I wanted to ask you - you’re not sleeping with anyone else, are you?” The words come out in an anxious rush. 

Hux laughs. He rolls onto his back and looks at Ben. “What brought this on?”

“Well, I’m leaving for a little while,” Ben says, reluctantly, “and I - I was afraid - “

“What, that I would decide I preferred some other member of my harem to you in your absence?” Hux looks amused. 

“Something like that.”

“I imagine I can probably keep my urges under control for the duration of your trip, if that will make you feel better.”

“Thanks,” Ben mutters. Hux hasn’t actually answered the question, but he decides not to press the issue, at least for the moment. He sighs. “Now all I have to worry about is dying at Vung Tau.”

“You’re not going to die at Vung Tau,” Hux says, impatiently. “Well, you may, if you’re exceptionally stupid. But it won’t be the Vietcong that kill you. More likely sunstroke, or alcohol poisoning. Didn’t you come through there when you first arrived?”

“Yeah, that’s where we got off the boat, but I only stayed for about a day before they sent me out here.”

Hux shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s more or less a holiday resort. It’s not for me, but you’ll like the beaches - water like a warm bath, or so I hear.”

“But they said we’d be doing patrols.”

Hux waves a dismissive hand. “Long walks on the beach, more like.”

“That would be nice,” Ben says wistfully. “Better than this fucking jungle out here, anyway. If I make it home I’m never going in the woods again as long as I live. Not even in Central Park. Too many trees.”

Hux laughs. “Sometimes I forget what a city boy you are. I suppose it must be especially strange for you out here, coming from New York.”

“Yeah, the only time I ever slept in the woods before was at this stupid Fresh Air Fund camp my mom sent me to when I was twelve,” Ben says. “My dad said he thought the air in Manhattan was perfectly fine, but my mom thought I should experience nature. So I had to go milk a cow and sleep in a cabin full of spiders and stuff like that; I hated it.”

“Poor you.”

“Yeah, poor me.” Ben reaches out to stroke Hux’s hair back from his forehead. “Anyway, isn’t it the same for you? I thought you were from London.”

“My father’s regiment is headquartered near there, yes.”

“But you didn’t grow up there?”

“No, except for short visits. After my mother died my father sent me to boarding school in Warwickshire.”

“Didn’t you say you were six when she died?” Ben asks, somewhat horrified. “He sent you away to boarding school when you were _six_ and you’d just lost your mom?”

“I was seven when I started school.”

“Oh, well, in that case, no big deal, I guess,” Ben says, sarcastically. “Was it okay there?”

Hux shrugs, eloquently. “One of our alumni famously remarked that his experience there prepared him to survive a prisoner-of-war camp during World War II. The headmaster was very proud of that.”

“Jesus, that sounds nightmarish,” Ben says, clutching Hux closer to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry for me,” Hux says irritably, wriggling away. “I learned a great deal there.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Ben says. He pictures Hux at seven, tiny and grieving and scared; he remembers Hux challenging him to a sparring match when they first met, and then cringing against the wall when he thought Ben might actually be about to hit him, and feels that he understands something about Hux. “I wish I’d been there with you, I could’ve looked out for you.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I was hardly waiting for a knight in shining armor to come and save me,” he says tartly. “I can handle myself, as I’ve told you. Besides, it was better than the alternative.”

“Ouch,” Ben says. “Would it have been that bad being home with your dad?”

“Oh that was never an option.” Hux turns back over onto his side, facing away from Ben.

Ben waits. “Can I ask why?” he asks, hesitantly.

Hux sighs. “I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you - my father and his wife were already married when he met my mother.” He waves a hand expressively. “It was during the war, all that - she was a cook in the ATS. The women’s auxiliary. He was a young captain. Handsome, I suppose, at the time, although he certainly isn’t anymore. The Army sent her home to Yorkshire with nothing but the clothes on her back when she fell pregnant.”

“Oh.” Ben wonders whether to tell Hux he’s sorry to hear this, or whether this will only provoke another irritated response. He strokes Hux’s narrow back instead, running a hand down the bumps of his spine. 

“At any rate,” Hux resumes after a moment, “it was either off to public school to board, or growing up in Yorkshire with my grandparents, I suppose, and going to the local state school.” This doesn’t sound so terrible to Ben, but Hux’s tone of voice suggests it would have been a particularly dire fate. “My father certainly thinks it was very fine on his part. To acknowledge me, and have me properly educated.” The bitterness in his voice is more evident now. 

“Well, at least you’ve gotten away from all of that now,” Ben says, tentatively.

“Oh, I’ll never get away from him,” Hux says grimly, “until he’s dead, and even then I’ll never stop hearing about him. His heroic exploits at Caen and in the Ardennes, etcetera... He arranged for me to join his regiment, and he’ll never retire. Even if he does he’ll be at every regimental function until he dies, he’s that sort.” Hux laughs a little. “I used to be so contemptuous of him, for taking advantage of my mother in that way. What sort of officer would sleep with a young soldier and see her drummed out without a word?” He shakes his head. “And now here I am. With you.”

“With me?” Ben laughs. “You can take advantage of me any way you want. You’re not going to get me pregnant. And if you get me drummed out I’ll be thrilled.” 

“You think that now,” Hux says darkly. “It won’t be so pleasant in real life.”

Ben has something else on his mind. “So - does that mean you haven’t done this with anyone else?”

“Done what?”

“This. What you’re doing with me.”

“Sex, yes. With an enlisted man - no, certainly not.” Hux twists his head to look at Ben and rolls his eyes at Ben’s pleased expression. “Yes, because of you, I violated my principles and demonstrated that I’m no better than my father. Well done, you.”

***

“I see you survived your holiday at the seashore,” Hux observes, opening his door when Ben bangs on it two weeks later. “How was it?”

“It was great,” Ben says happily. “You were right - I didn’t need to worry. I got to swim almost every day. I hate to say it, but the beaches here beat the crap out of Coney Island.” 

Their “patrols” had, as Hux had predicted, been more like long walks on the beach, and the NCOs made no effort to stop the soldiers from stripping off their clothes to wade into the warm surf every time they stopped moving. If not for the grey hulls of the Navy warships that they could see at anchor in the distance, the white palm-fringed sand and turquoise water would have looked almost unreal, like a tropical fantasy in an advertisement. A gaggle of children followed them everywhere they went, selling them Cokes and candy and souvenirs, and giggling at their few words of Vietnamese. 

In the evenings back at the base there were floor shows with a multinational array of glittering strippers - not especially interesting to Ben, but he enjoyed the live band. Every night, they closed out the show with the same song - _homeward bound, I wish that I was homeward bound_... as the drunken soldiers swayed and sang along and sometimes cried. Ben watched this scene with a certain sense of hometown pride - after all, Simon and Garfunkel were Jewish boys from New York City, just like him. It was his home they were all singing about, really. And Ben’s imaginary Saigon girlfriend had come in handy again, providing him with a convenient excuse to avoid getting any closer to the available women than the crowd around the stage. 

“I told you so,” Hux says, stepping aside to let Ben in. He’s in his black robe again, and his hair is damp. Ben eyes him hungrily. “You were likely safer there than here - we’ve had quite a few mortar attacks since you left.”

“Ugh,” Ben says, setting his rifle down and leaning it against the door. “Did any of them hit near where you work? Or near here?”

“No, they’ve mostly fallen closer to the perimeter.” Hux has stepped away from Ben’s reaching hands and seems to be looking for something under the bed. He pulls out a large rectangular box and pushes it in Ben’s direction. “Here. I got you something in Saigon while you were gone. Open it.”

“You did?” Ben drops to his knees and tears open the cardboard, not sure what to expect. Inside the box is a leather guitar case. “Hux! You didn’t!”

“Yes, well,” Hux says, “it was very tiresome having to listen to you complain about not having one anymore.” 

“Hux,” Ben breathes, opening the case with shaking hands, “this is a Gibson guitar. This - I don’t even have a guitar like this at home. I didn’t know you could buy them here.”

“You can buy anything in Saigon.”

“Hux - I - I can’t take this. It’s too much. I don’t have anything for you - “

“Of course you can take it,” Hux says irritably. “I can’t return it, and what would I do with a guitar? You can thank me by not playing it anywhere where I can hear you.”

Ben, who had picked up the guitar and had been on the point of plucking at the strings to hear the sound, hastily sets it back down in its plush case. He closes the case carefully and jumps up to wrap his arms around Hux. “Hux - this is amazing - thank you so much - “

“You’re crushing me,” Hux complains, but he sounds pleased. Ben loosens his grip slightly, but doesn’t let go. He presses his face happily into Hux’s damp hair, kissing his ear and the side of his head. “I don’t know a thing about guitars but someone told me this is the sort of guitar Bob Dylan has, so I supposed that might mean something to you.”

“It’s amazing,” Ben says again, “it’s perfect - I love it - I love you - “

“Enough nonsense,” Hux says, his face pink. He runs a hand down Ben’s chest and over his fly, massaging his cock through the thick cotton of his uniform. Ben lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sound, clutching at Hux, as the heat of that touch sparks through him. “Stop talking and take off your clothes.”

“You got it,” Ben says eagerly, yanking his shirt over his head and tugging at his boots. Hux sits down in the armchair to watch him undress. “Hux - can I - will you let me - “

“Yes?” Hux raises an eyebrow at him challengingly.

“ - will you let me fuck you?” Ben asks, his face hot. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks - ever since you said - “

“Eventually, yes,” Hux says, watching with interest as Ben unbuttons his fly, “once you learn some self-control. Not tonight.”

“Please? You can show me how you like it - I’ll do anything you want - “

“Hmmm,” Hux says thoughtfully, tapping his full lower lip with his index finger. “So you’ve been thinking about it for weeks? And what were you doing while you were thinking about it?”

Ben grins, a bit sheepishly, pulling off his trousers and dropping them on the floor. “Uh, well. You know.”

“Show me.” Hux gestures to the bed. “I want to watch you.”

Ben lies down, feeling somewhat self-conscious. “Really? You want to watch me jerk off?”

Hux reaches into a drawer in the nightstand and hands Ben a small tub of Vaseline. “Yes, obviously,” he says, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. “And tell me what you usually think about when you do it.”

“Okay,” Ben says, dipping his fingers in the Vaseline and then gripping his cock. He feels more awkward than anything else - but he likes the way Hux is looking at him, his green eyes heavy-lidded as he sucks on his cigarette. He strokes himself slowly, and Hux’s eyes follow his hand. “You sure you don’t want to come over here and join me?”

“What would you want to do to me if I did?”

“I, uh, I just keep thinking about what you said. About how you could maybe come just - just from my cock inside you - “

“You want to see that?” Hux asks, uncrossing his legs. Ben can see his cock beginning to push up against the thin fabric of his robe. “You want to fuck me until I can’t help coming all over myself?”

“Oh fuck,” Ben breathes, his hand moving faster on his cock, “yeah - I really want that - I love the sounds you make - love watching you come - “

“Your cock would feel so good inside me,” Hux says sweetly. “What if I tied you to the bed and rode you until I came? Just used you like a toy?”

“Oh my god,” Ben pants, reaching down between his legs to roll his pulled-tight balls against his hot palm, “you turn me on like crazy - you can use me any way you want - “

“You’re always so eager to please,” Hux says, stubbing out his cigarette. Ben can’t quite tell if Hux is making fun of him or not, but at the moment he doesn’t especially care. “Maybe I’ll let you practice a bit.”

“Practice - what?”

“Practice fucking me,” Hux says, standing up and shrugging off his robe. “Between my thighs.”

“I - if you want - however you want it - “

“Turn onto your side,” Hux says, lying down next to Ben with his back to him. Ben reaches for him immediately, rolling half on top of him. He groans from deep in his chest as his Vaseline-slicked cock slides against Hux’s round little ass. Hux squirms deliciously underneath him, spreading his legs. “Here - like this - “ He reaches down to guide Ben’s cock between his upper thighs. 

Ben whimpers as Hux reaches for the Vaseline and strokes more of it onto Ben’s erection. “You like this?”

“Mmm,” Hux responds, as Ben thrusts experimentally between his legs. The skin of his inner thighs is hot and silky, slick with the lubricant; the sensation is maddening, not quite enough. “Reminds me of what we used to do in school.”

“Yeah?” Ben grunts, jerking his hips sharply, pressing Hux into the mattress. He isn’t sure whether or not he actually wants to hear more about this. He pictures Hux bending over for a long line of faceless boys, letting one after the other thrust their hard cocks between his soft thighs; the idea simultaneously makes him angry and makes his cock throb furiously. “You did this a lot?”

“A roommate I had,” Hux says, breathing hard, “he - he was like you, big, like you, a rugby player - I tried to hide it but he could tell I wanted him.” He clenches his thighs hard around Ben’s cock, making him gasp. “He was always at me about it - telling me that he was off to have a wank and asking if I wanted to help him, that sort of thing - “

“Did you do it?” Ben asks, hating himself for asking, pumping his hips faster now. He reaches around to tease at Hux’s nipples with his fingers. 

“ _Ah_ \- finally I said, yes, all right, since you obviously want it so much - I used to suck his cock, let him fuck my thighs - he’d laugh at me because I’d get so hard when he’d do that, he’d pinch my nipples and tell me I had pretty tits, but he wouldn’t ever touch my cock, it was humiliating but I liked it - “

“Is that what you want?” Ben demands. He’s bucking his hips wildly now, beginning to lose control. He bites down hard on the side of Hux’s neck. “You want me to humiliate you? Laugh at you because you like my cock so much?”

“No,” Hux snarls, “and give me your hand - I want to come in your hand - “

Ben works a hand between Hux and the mattress, grabbing his cock roughly. Hux groans and grinds down against his sweating palm. “You said you wanted me to bend you over your desk,” Ben pants, “you wanted to suck my cock while I was sitting on your desk - you want everyone in your fancy office to see you like that? You want everyone to see how much you like my cock? Is that it?”

“Fuck - off - “ Hux whimpers, as his body goes rigid and his come spills hotly over Ben’s fingers. Ben thrusts between his thighs one more time and comes with a strangled sound, heat shuddering through him. He collapses on Hux’s back.

“Move,” Hux says after a moment, squirming. “You’re heavy.”

“Sorry,” Ben says, gingerly un-sticking himself from Hux and rolling onto his side. Hux sits up and reaches for a tissue, wrinkling his nose as he scrubs at the mess of come and Vaseline on his thighs. Ben reaches out for him, wanting to hold him, feeling as if he needs - some sort of tenderness, after whatever that was. Hux makes a little irritated sound, pushing Ben’s hand away, but then he lies down and curls back against Ben’s chest. Ben strokes Hux’s bony hip with his thumb. 

“I don’t know why I told you all that,” Hux mutters, after a while.

“So that was a real story then?” Ben asks. “Not just something you were saying to get me worked up?”

Hux sighs. “No. That happened. We weren’t the only ones who did that sort of thing - there weren’t any girls around, so it happened - but I knew there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t meant to like it as much as I did.”

Ben considers this. “I kind of want to beat the shit out of that guy.”

Hux laughs. “No need,” he says. “He’s married now and lives in Woking. Works in a bank. He’s a very respectable citizen these days.”

“I still kind of want to punch him.”

Hux twists around to look at him. “Because he was an ass to me, or because I rather enjoyed it?”

“Both, I guess,” Ben admits. He presses his face into the damp hair at the nape of Hux’s neck. “I just - it drives me crazy to think about you being with anyone else.”

Hux makes an exasperated sound. “That was years ago, Benjamin.”

“I know. I mean now.”

“This again?” Hux sounds annoyed. “I already told you I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

“You didn’t really,” Ben says, hating how pathetic he sounds. “You just said you wouldn’t while I was gone.”

“Oh, and now that our two-week agreement has expired, you want to renew it?” Hux laughs. “Like a library book?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh very well,” Hux says, looking over his shoulder again and rolling his eyes, “if it will make you feel better, I suppose I can promise to only commit career-ending sexual offenses with you for the foreseeable future.”

Ben laughs. “Thanks, that’s exactly what I’ve always dreamed of hearing from someone special.”

“Excellent,” Hux says. “That reminds me - on the subject of committing future sexual offenses together, you should put in a request for R&R in October. I’ll write down the exact dates for you.”

“R&R? But I just got here in August. They’ll never let me take R&R so soon.”

“The worst they can do is say no.”

Ben shrugs. “Sure, why not? Why October though?”

“Because I’m going to Bangkok for R&R then.”

“Oh, okay,” Ben says. “I don’t know anything about Bangkok, but wherever, I guess.”

“I like Bangkok,” Hux says. “People mind their own business in Bangkok. Also everyone here assumes you’re going for the girls, so they don’t ask too many questions.”

“Is there a beach?”

“No, not in the city, but we can hire a driver and go to the seashore for a week or so if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Ben says sleepily. “It was great at Vung Tau but I missed you the whole time. Also I was always scared someone might take a shot at us from the trees.”

“Well, no one will shoot at you in Thailand.” Hux squirms away and stands up. “I need another shower. You’ve made quite a mess of me.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Ben says. “One other thing though - I wanted to ask you - “

“What now?” Hux asks, already in his robe and halfway to the door. 

“It was just so nice in Vung Tau - it was making us all nervous. A lot of the guys were saying they must be getting ready to send us somewhere really awful if they’re letting us have this much fun now.”

“And what about it?”

“I mean - do you know anything about that? You’re at the brigade planning meetings. You would know what they’re going to make us do.”

“Even if I did,” Hux says loftily, looking down his nose at Ben, “I would never disclose classified operational information.”

The queasy feeling in the pit of Ben’s stomach returns with a vengeance. “But - “

“But nothing,” Hux says, his hand on the doorknob. “Put in your request for R&R. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay,” Ben says, gnawing at his lower lip anxiously as the door shuts behind Hux. Then he remembers his new guitar and jumps out of bed to try it out. Even untuned, the guitar has a rich, deep sound that quivers through him; as he tightens the strings and tests them, the off-notes reverberate mournfully through the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Angst: some discussion of Hux’s sad childhood, but nothing graphic.
> 
> \- Referenced Hux/OMC: while he’s having sex with Ben, Hux talks about a previous sexual relationship that he had with a male roommate that was consensual but arguably somewhat exploitative (not overtly abusive, but some “internalized homophobia is a hell of a drug” issues going on).
> 
> \- Acknowledgements: Ben’s trip to Vung Tau is loosely based on an experience Tim O’Brien had at a different American base, Chu Lai, which he described in his memoir “If I Die in a Combat Zone.” The detail about the strip shows ending every night with “Homeward Bound” is from that book.
> 
> Other than that this chapter is mostly porn. Hope you enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see endnotes for detailed chapter-specific warnings.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Z exclaims. “You got here in August, you already got approved for R&R, and now you’re out of here just before we start this bullshit mission?”

“Sorry,” Ben mutters. 

Finn is shaking his head. “I’ve been here for seven months and I’ve put in for R&R four times and I’ve gotten turned down every time,” he says. “You got some kind of guardian angel looking out for you, Solo?”

“ _And_ you found a girlfriend here in like a week,” Z adds, staring at Ben jealously. “Well, if she exists. I’m in the ville all the time and I’ve still never seen you there. Or any girl who looks like she goes to school in Saigon.”

“Of course she exists,” Ben snarls, his body tensing in panic. “We don’t want her family to find out - we’re not going to start fucking in the middle of the street just because you can’t stay the fuck out of my business.”

“Relax, Romeo,” Finn says calmly. “Have fun in Bangkok. Don’t get arrested. And bring us back a bottle of whiskey or something so we can all celebrate together when we get back from Long Nguyen.”

***

“Is Long Nguyen a bad place to be?”

“Probably,” Hux says, looking around happily as their taxi pulls away from the airport and merges onto the road to Bangkok. “Try not to think about it. Look where we are!”

Ben glances out at the palm trees and rice paddies by the side of the road. It looks too much like Vietnam for him to feel very excited about it. “Because my battalion is going there this week, and - “

“Shhh,” Hux hisses, gesturing at their taxi driver. 

“What’s he going to do?” Ben whispers, elbowing Hux. “Get on the phone and call the Vietcong to let them know we’re coming?”

“Maybe. Be quiet.”

Ben rolls his eyes and looks away. He’s finding it difficult to shake his nagging sense of guilt about abandoning his platoon. He’s also still slightly annoyed that Hux had first refused to sit next to him on the plane, and then insisted on performing an elaborate charade at the taxi stand in which he and Ben pretended to have just met and discovered that they were coincidentally going to the same hotel. Ben found the whole routine exhausting and unnecessary. A few of the soldiers who were waiting in line for taxis had in fact glanced curiously at Hux’s unusual uniform - he was wearing his shorts and knee socks again - but for the most part they were all very busy discussing what they had heard about Bangkok’s bars and clubs, and were paying no attention whatsoever to Ben and Hux. 

“Here,” Hux says, after a moment, handing Ben a small booklet. _Bangkok: Night-Life and Shopping_ , it says, next to a photograph of a pretty girl in an elaborate, pointy golden headdress. “Look through that and see if there’s anything you’d particularly like to do.”

Ben flips through it. “Oh hey,” he says, momentarily distracted, “there’s a snake show! Can we go see that?”

Hux makes a face. “Ugh, what on earth for?”

“It says they have two hundred kinds of snakes. And they’ll let you pet some of them.”

“That’s two hundred more kinds of snakes than I personally need to have in my life,” Hux responds, wrinkling his nose, “and I certainly don’t want to pet any of them - but I suppose we can do that if you insist. Isn’t there anything else you’d like to see?”

Ben turns the page. “There’s a crocodile show too! And the guy puts his head in the crocodile’s mouth!” He waves the photograph at Hux. 

Hux laughs. “I begin to sense a pattern here,” he says. “I do hope our trip won’t be _entirely_ focused on disgusting reptiles.”

Ben reaches out to put his arm around Hux, ignoring Hux’s anxious glance in the direction of the driver. Hux’s shorts are riding up, and in spite of his earlier irritation, Ben very much wants to bite and suck at the pale exposed skin of his inner thighs. “Don’t worry,” he says in Hux’s ear. “There’s a _lot_ of other stuff I definitely want to do while we’re here.”

***

“Let me take this uniform off first,” Hux protests, when Ben pins him against the wall with his hips as soon as the door of their hotel room closes behind them. “You’ll wrinkle it.”

“Why don’t you leave it on?” Ben says, mouthing at Hux’s neck in a way that reliably persuades Hux to stop complaining. It works on this occasion as well: Hux shivers in his arms and lets out a pleased little sound that sparks hotly through Ben. “You’ve been distracting me with those little shorts since the day I met you. Leave them on.”

“Oh really,” Hux pants, squirming against Ben, “and what have you been wanting to do to me in them?”

“This, among other things,” Ben says, squeezing and kneading Hux’s ass with both hands as he presses their hips together. They’re both hard, and Ben feels momentarily dizzy at the idea that he has a full two weeks of freedom and privacy to do anything he wants with Hux. 

“Is that all?” Hux asks, tilting his chin up to give Ben better access to the sensitive spot where his neck meets his jaw. Ben bites down there and is rewarded with another hot little sound from Hux. 

“Mmm,” Ben says, glancing at the nearby sofa, “and also this.” He takes a step back and spins Hux around, bending him over the cushioned arm of the sofa with a hand on his hip and his other hand on the back of Hux’s neck. Hux lets out a startled yelp and Ben worries momentarily that he’s being too aggressive - but then Hux arches his back and and pushes his ass against Ben’s cock through the layers of their clothes, and Ben stops worrying about anything at all. He fumbles with the buttons on Hux’s shorts, wanting to feel his bare skin. 

“I thought you wanted me to leave them on?” Hux peers back over his shoulder at Ben, raising an eyebrow.

Ben laughs, breathlessly. “I don’t know - I just want to fuck you so bad, I can’t think - “

He expects Hux to say no, not yet, some other time - but instead Hux only inhales sharply and says, “Let me take my boots off at least.”

“Okay,” Ben says, suddenly uncertain, letting go of Hux, “really? Can we - “

“Sit down there,” Hux says, standing up and pointing to the sofa, “and wait.” 

Ben sits down, looking up at Hux’s flushed face expectantly. “Wait for what?”

“Me,” Hux says, picking up his backpack and disappearing into the bathroom. Ben watches him go, somewhat confused. He reaches down to readjust himself, shifting uncomfortably on the stiff sofa. His cock aches between his legs. He looks around the hotel room: it’s a loft, all in dark wood, with green silk curtains that glow in the hot sunlight from outside. The high windows look out over what seems to be a city park. In the distance he can see something golden - a temple? - gleaming on a hilltop; below the temple, a profusion of neon-festooned high-rise buildings sprout like multicolored mushrooms. 

_Is he really going to let me do this?_ Ben thinks. “Not yet, not until you’ve learned some self-control,” he remembers Hux saying, and wonders if Hux was just making fun of him as usual, or whether Hux was genuinely worried that Ben would hurt him. Suddenly he feels more anxious than excited. 

Just as Ben is about to go and knock on the bathroom door to see if Hux is all right, he re-emerges, shirtless, with a towel around his hips. He has something in his hand - the Vaseline, Ben realizes. “Hello,” he says softly, squinting as he passes through the shaft of sunlight from the window. There’s something sweet and almost shy about the way he looks at Ben. His bare feet look oddly vulnerable on the dark wooden floor. 

“Come here,” Ben says, holding out his arms. Hux comes, bending down to kiss Ben. His lips are very soft. Ben sighs happily, wrapping his arms around Hux, as Hux’s fingers wind through his hair and Hux’s tongue slips into his mouth. He runs his fingers down Hux’s bare back, to the edge of the towel. “Can I take this off you?” 

“Mmm,” Hux responds, kissing him again. He lets Ben pull the towel away and drop it on the floor. Then he moves to straddle Ben, his knees on either side of Ben’s hips. As he shifts his weight, making himself comfortable, the feeling of Hux squirming naked in his lap has Ben dizzyingly hard again, overwhelmed. 

“You’re just so pretty,” he says, running both hands over Hux’s body, squeezing and fondling him, pinching at his candy-pink nipples. Hux’s body jerks at his touch. He slides one hand down to stroke the hollow of Hux’s hip with his thumb. 

“Don’t call me that,” Hux says, panting against Ben’s mouth as Ben wraps his hand around Hux’s cock. It’s the same pretty pink as his nipples, standing up stiffly between his thighs. 

“You are, though,” Ben says, breathing hard as Hux begins trying to thrust up into his hand, his ass rubbing against Ben’s cock with every little movement, “you’re all - like - all strawberries and cream - “

“You’re - _ah_ \- absurd and sentimental,” Hux says, clutching at his shoulders. “Isn’t there something more useful you could be doing with your mouth?”

“Like this?” Ben asks, lowering his head to lick and suck at Hux’s nipples, still squeezing his cock. 

Hux makes a little pleased sound. “Yes - that’s much better,” he gasps, grinding against Ben. Ben continues to mouth at his nipples, first one and then the other, until Hux is making little frantic noises and the tip of his cock is dripping onto Ben’s fingers. “But are you ever going to actually fuck me?” 

Ben wants to say something taunting, something about how bad Hux obviously wants it, but he can’t quite form the words. Instead he just says, “How - how do you - “

“Just relax,” Hux says, more gently, pushing Ben’s hands away from him. Ben breathes in shakily as Hux begins unbuttoning his pants. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasps, as Hux draws his cock out through his fly and begins stroking Vaseline over it. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Hux - if you keep touching me like that - I’m not going to last - “

“Hold still,” Hux says, letting go, and Ben opens his eyes as Hux lowers himself carefully onto the tip of Ben’s cock.

“Oh my god,” Ben groans, clenching his fists at his sides, willing himself not to move, not to thrust up into that silky heat as Hux slowly takes him deeper - “you’re so _tight_ \- that feels incredible - “

“You like that?” Hux breathes. His face is very pink. He moves his hips, just a bit, as if testing out the feeling, and Ben whimpers.

“Oh fuck - yeah - you okay?” he manages. 

“Yes,” Hux says, his eyes drifting shut as he begins to rock up and down, his arms around Ben’s neck, “it’s good - it’s so good - “

Ben digs his nails into his palms, trying not to come immediately, trying to hold out long enough to give Hux what he wants. But then Hux shivers and clenches down around his cock and sighs, “You’re so _big_ ,” and it all becomes too much - the heat of Hux’s body and the quiver in his voice and the blissful expression on his face. Ben hears himself let out a desperate, choked sound as his back arches and his orgasm burns through him. 

He sags back against the sofa, panting. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s all right,” Hux says, somewhat muffled against Ben’s shoulder. His still-hard cock presses against Ben’s stomach through his shirt. “You’re predictable, that’s all. You love it when I tell you how big you are.”

“I do,” Ben admits. He kisses Hux’s flushed face, cradling Hux’s head in his hands. “And you - you’re so fucking hot, I can’t help myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” Hux says drily. “Luckily I enjoy your enthusiasm.” He moves off Ben, gingerly, and picks up the towel. He lays it on the couch and flops down on it, on his back, spreading his legs at Ben. “Care to help me with this?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Ben says eagerly, leaning forward to kiss the inside of Hux’s thigh. Hux squirms impatiently, tugging at Ben’s hair, and Ben moves obediently to take Hux’s cock into his mouth. Hux groans as he bobs his head, sucking hard; his cock leaks salt onto Ben’s tongue.

“Your fingers - “ Hux gasps, “can you - I want your fingers inside me - “

“Mmm,” Ben responds, reaching between Hux’s spread legs to touch him hesitantly with the tip of his index finger. 

Hux writhes, trying to bear down on it. “ _Do_ it,” he orders, shuddering as Ben slides his finger deeper. “Mmm - your fingers are so thick - that’s it, crook your finger - “ Ben hums around Hux’s cock, feeling how tight and hot Hux is around his finger. It occurs to him to try rubbing the sensitive spot behind Hux’s balls with his thumb at the same time. Hux lets out a little shriek, his hips jerking, and he pulls Ben’s hair hard as his cock spurts into Ben’s mouth. Ben swallows, several times, feeling pleased with himself.

“You know,” Ben announces, after a moment, “I guess I’m officially-officially not a virgin anymore.”

Hux is still lying back on the couch, his eyes closed and his neat hair only slightly mussed. “Oh yes,” he says with a laugh, “you were so very virginal before.”

“Well, technically, yeah.”

“Have it your way,” Hux says. “Congratulations!” He starts to stand up. “I’ll just pop into the shower and then we can go get drinks to celebrate.”

Ben tugs him back down into his lap. “Don’t go yet,” he says. He’s already half-hard again, still tasting Hux in his mouth. “I like having you naked while I’m still dressed. I bet I can go again in a minute - can I bend you over the couch?”

Hux laughs. “You’ll wear me out,” he says. “I suppose I did say I enjoy your enthusiasm.”

“You did,” Ben agrees. “Does that mean yes?”

“It means you might be able to persuade me,” Hux says, wrapping his long bare legs around Ben’s waist.

***

“I can’t believe you made me get up early to go do PT on our vacation,” Ben groans, the next morning, trotting unhappily into the park after Hux. “I don’t even usually have to do this with my platoon.” 

Ben had been looking forward to sleeping in, waking up next to Hux, lying lazily in bed with him and maybe making love to him in the middle of the morning - all the things that he normally isn’t able to do because he always has to sneak quietly out of Hux’s room before the other officers begin to wake up. But to Ben’s disappointment, he had instead woken in the predawn light to find Hux already dressed and lacing up his running shoes. “Oh good, you’re awake,” Hux said briskly, when he saw Ben peering sleepily at him. “Get up, it’s a perfect day for a run.”

“Early morning is the best time to do physical training,” Hux says now, imperturbably, swinging his arms vigorously as he jogs down the path, past a line of palm trees. Ben’s only consolation is that Hux’s running shorts are even shorter and more diaphanous than the ones he wears with his uniform. “Feel how lovely the air is.”

“That’s not what I wanted to be feeling right now,” Ben grumbles, nudging Hux. 

Hux rolls his eyes. “Later,” he says.

“But later is the snake show,” Ben says, mostly to irritate Hux. “The guidebook says they milk the snakes every day at eleven A.M. sharp.”

“You and your snakes,” Hux says, speeding up. “Have you always been so strangely fixated on them? Maybe you should be psychoanalyzed; it seems very Freudian.”

Ben laughs, lengthening his stride to chase after Hux. “Honestly, I’m not that obsessed with snakes, I promise,” he says. “I just love the faces you make whenever I say anything about them. Did you know you twitch your nose when you’re annoyed?”

“I do not.”

“You do,” Ben says, “it’s very cute.”

Hux grimaces, making, possibly, a deliberate effort not to twitch his nose. “I suppose you would know,” he says. “You’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to see what my face looks like when I’m annoyed.”

Just then, a rustling sound under a nearby bush attracts Ben’s attention. “Holy shit, Hux!” he yelps, looking under the bush. “There’s a fucking - a fucking dinosaur or something under here!”

Hux, who had jogged ahead, circles back towards Ben with a long-suffering expression on his face. He glances down. “It’s a monitor lizard,” he says patiently. “There are quite a lot of them in the park. I should have mentioned them to you this morning - I’m sure I’d have had an easier time prying you out of bed if it had occurred to me to entice you with large reptiles.”

“That thing is like eight feet long!” Ben says. “I was just about to say that this place kind of reminds me of Central Park. But we don’t have - we don’t have fucking dinosaurs in Central Park! What do these things eat, do you know?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Hux says, beginning to jog away. “Anything that will fit in their mouths, I would imagine.”

“I think I’m going to like this city,” Ben says, following him. “I’ve been here for less than a day and I’ve already lost my virginity and seen a dinosaur.”

Hux laughs. “I’m glad to hear you’ve had a productive vacation so far.”

As they come around a curve in the path, Ben sees a wide brown lake shining in the early-morning sun. The view of the city skyline beyond the lake reminds Ben even more strongly of Central Park. “Hux,” he says, gesturing towards a small dock where a row of rusty swan-shaped paddleboats are tied up, “look - we could rent a boat and go out on the lake.”

“We _could_ ,” Hux says doubtfully, “but why would we?”

“I did that with a girl once, in high school,” Ben says. “We rented a rowboat in Central Park - she thought it would be romantic, I guess. I just think it’d be more fun with you.”

Hux’s face softens slightly. “Oh all right,” he says, “if you like.” 

The roof of the swan boat is so low that both Ben and Hux bump their heads against it as they get in, and the boat tilts ominously towards Ben’s side as he sits down. “I’ve changed my mind,” Hux announces, holding onto the side of the rocking boat anxiously as Ben begins to paddle it away from the dock. “I think you’re too large to have romantic swan-boat experiences in Southeast Asia.”

“I thought you liked how large I am,” Ben says, grinning at Hux.

“Not when it increases my likelihood of death by drowning,” Hux says, “or being eaten by lizards if this boat capsizes.”

“You won’t drown,” Ben says, “this water’s like three feet deep, you can just stand up. And I’ll fight the lizards if they try to eat you.” He looks around. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about lizards!” he exclaims, seeing a reptilian head poking out of the water in the distance. “I didn’t know these things could swim!” 

“Yes, they swim,” Hux says, “and why are we now heading in its direction?”

“I just want to look at it,” Ben says. This monitor lizard is especially large and craggy-faced; its long tail waves gently in the brown water behind it, as if it were a small crocodile. Ben paddles faster as the lizard tries to get away from them. 

“Don’t chase it,” Hux says, “you’ll provoke it!”

“What’s it going to do?” Ben demands. “It can’t get to us in here.” The lizard, now trapped between their swan boat and the shore, suddenly turns on them. It begins swimming aggressively in their direction. Its snout is scarred, as if from many battles, and its expression is malevolent. “Ah - fuck!” Ben says, paddling backwards furiously.

Hux is clutching at his arm. “I told you!” he yelps. 

The lizard, apparently having made its point, turns its back on them contemptuously and swims away. Ben starts to laugh. “Okay, fine, you were right,” he says. “But I was right too - this is definitely more fun than rowing girls around Central Park.”

“For you, maybe,” Hux grumbles. Ben pats his knee soothingly. “If I survive a year in Vietnam and then die of monitor-lizard attack in a swan paddleboat in Bangkok, my ghost will never give you a moment’s peace.” 

Ben puts his arm around Hux’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says.

***

The next morning, Ben is pleased to see that Hux is still asleep next to him when he wakes up. Hux is naked, lying on his side with his back to Ben; Ben lies still, looking at him quietly, for a long time. His fair skin and bright hair almost seem to glow in the pale light from the window. Ben wonders how best to distract him from insisting on another early-morning workout when he wakes up. 

When Hux begins to stir, Ben leans forward to kiss the back of his neck. Hux mumbles something and starts to get out of bed. “Just relax,” Ben says. “Stay here.” He begins kissing his way down the bumps of Hux’s spine, tasting the salt on his skin. Hux rolls onto his stomach with a sigh, resting his head on his folded arms. Ben works his way farther down, gently pushing Hux’s thighs apart with his hands.

Hux tenses slightly, lifting his head to peer at Ben over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Just wanted to try something,” Ben says, kissing the spot just at the base of Hux’s spine. His mouth moves lower, and Hux lets out a little cry.

“You - you don’t have to do that,” Hux says, breathlessly, but he squirms back against Ben’s tongue as if he likes it. “Ah!”

“Does it feel good?” Ben asks, breathing against Hux’s damp skin. He licks at him again, and Hux makes a noise that sounds almost like a sob. “It sounds like it feels good.”

“It does - but - you shouldn’t - “

“Why not?”

“It’s - it’s dirty - “

“Don’t worry about that,” Ben says, “I like the way you taste; you’re always so clean.” He works his tongue a bit deeper, experimentally, and Hux makes that sobbing sound again. He sounds almost as if he’s in pain. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” Hux admits, his face buried in his arms, “don’t stop - “

“Mmm,” Ben responds, and begins licking into him hungrily, fucking Hux with his tongue. He’s enjoying the little desperate noises Hux is making, the way he’s writhing against Ben’s mouth and grinding his hips against the mattress. Ben reaches down between his legs to squeeze his own erection.

“Enough,” Hux gasps finally, “I want your cock in me - “

“Yeah? You want it?” Ben says, sitting up and looking around for the Vaseline. He’s so hard he can barely think. “You want my fingers first - or - “

“Just fuck me,” Hux says impatiently, getting up on his hands and knees and spreading his legs. 

“You look amazing like that,” Ben says, grunting as he lubes up his cock, “you shouldn’t ever be allowed to wear clothes - you’re so hot - “

“Oh?” Hux says, looking provocatively at Ben over his shoulder. “You’d like to take me out in public like this? Show everyone what belongs to you?”

“Oh fuck,” Ben whimpers, lining up his cock and easing just the tip into the clutching heat of Hux’s body, “yeah - maybe put a collar on you - pull you into my lap and let you squirm against my dick in front of everyone - “

“Yes - “ Hux gasps as Ben slides further into him, “let everyone see how hard you make me - how much I love your cock - “

“Yeah? You love it?” Ben pants, fully in Hux now. “Want me to fuck you hard?”

“Yes,” Hux sighs happily, “do it - “

Ben grabs Hux’s hips with both hands and pulls nearly all the way out, then slams back into him. Hux shouts. Ben freezes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No - it’s good - do it again - “

“Oh my god,” Ben groans, ramming into him again and again, making him cry out. Hux is arching his back and pushing back against Ben and it feels glorious, perfect, as if his cock is everything Hux has ever wanted. “You feel so good - I can’t stand it - “

“Don’t stop,” Hux squeaks, “I’m so close - touch me - “ Ben reaches around to stroke Hux’s straining cock with his still-slippery right hand. “Ah!” Hux’s body clenches down around Ben’s cock as his come spurts through Ben’s fingers. Ben flops down on Hux’s back with a groan, biting into his shoulder and shuddering as he comes deep inside Hux. They lie together in the afterglow, both still breathing hard.

“How did it occur to you to do that?” Hux asks, after a moment. “With your mouth, before.”

“Oh,” Ben says, “I just thought you might like it. Since you’re so sensitive there.” He strokes Hux’s hip. “And now that I’ve seen what it does to you I’m going to do it all the time. I love the noises you make.”

“And talking about putting me in a collar, too.” Hux laughs, shaking his head. “Apparently you have unexpected depths.”

“I saw that in a movie once. And you’d look great in just a collar.” Ben wonders if Hux would like being spanked, like the girl in the movie, and his cock jerks. Something else occurs to him. “So am I the first person to do that to you? Licking you like that?”

“Yes, you are,” Hux says. “Should I offer my congratulations?”

Ben grins. “Sure,” he says. “I like being the only guy who’s ever made you feel that way.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Yes, well done,” he says, “you’ve managed to introduce me to a new form of depravity for once, instead of the other way round.”

“Cool,” Ben says happily. They lie together in silence for a moment. 

“I will say, I’m glad that you’re - ah, that you’re taking this all so well,” Hux says eventually. “Since it’s all new to you.”

“What, you mean sleeping with you? Or being in Bangkok?”

“Both, I suppose. But mostly the first one.”

Ben laughs. “What’s not to like?”

“Oh, you know.” Hux is quiet for a moment. “Not everyone has your - equanimity about these things. A boy I was with at university used to hop out of bed every time to pray for forgiveness as soon as we were done; it was very tiresome.”

“My family’s not really the praying kind,” Ben says. “My dad makes us pork chops every Friday night. When he’s there, anyway. And my mom always says that you should read the Torah the same way you read Tolstoy - because it’s literature, not because it’s literally how you should live your life.” 

“Well,” Hux says, “I’m glad to hear your family has sensible views about _some_ things.”

“I know what you mean, though,” Ben says, ignoring this remark. “I worried about it a lot in high school.” He pauses. “Like - when I was sixteen, this old man in Central Park offered me money to go to the movies with him. I remember his teeth were all stained brown. And there was this gym teacher at school that all the boys tried to stay away from. It used to make me sick to think I might be like them.”

“You aren’t like them. You’re like me.”

“I know,” Ben says, squeezing Hux tightly. He doesn’t quite know how to say that the way he feels about Hux - the heat of his touch, the sunshine-burst feeling of waking up next to him - isn’t even in the same galaxy as the creeping disgust he had felt when those men looked at him. “But I didn’t know anyone like you when I was growing up.”

“I’m here now,” Hux says, curling around to kiss him. 

***

“I still don’t know about these clothes,” Ben says, looking down at himself. “I feel like the guys in my squad would beat the crap out of me if they saw me dressed like this. I kind of want to beat the crap out of myself.”

“Why?” Hux snaps. “Because you’re dressed like me?”

The day before, Hux had agreed to go to the snake show with Ben if Ben would come with him to a tailor. Ben had refused to be fitted for a jacket - “They won’t let you visit the Grand Palace without one,” Hux had pointed out; “It’s eighty-five degrees outside,” Ben responded, “I don’t know how everyone at the Grand Palace isn’t dead of heatstroke” - but had somewhat uncomfortably accepted Hux’s gift of a pair of linen trousers and two silk shirts. He’s wearing his new clothes now with his combat boots, since Hux had vetoed his muddy sneakers. 

“No,” Ben says. “I don’t know how you’re not sweating to death, but you look great.” Hux is wearing a white linen suit and looks somehow perfect and untouched, like a model in a catalogue. The taxi windows are rolled down, but the hot evening breeze is no match for Hux’s hair gel. “I just - this is not how I dress. I feel like some rich asshole with a yacht or something. I want to punch myself in the face.”

“If you turn up at this club in blue jeans and a torn T-shirt they’ll send you home,” Hux says, sounding exasperated. He lowers his voice. “What if I told you that my ultimate sexual fantasy is to see you dressed like a civilized human being?”

Ben smiles reluctantly. “I guess I could maybe do it then.”

“Well there you have it,” Hux says smugly. “For your information, part of the fantasy is that you’re enjoying the evening instead of complaining.”

“I can do both,” Ben points out. He looks out the window. Streets that had been quiet in the heat of the day are now full of people; the sidewalks under the neon lights are crowded with street vendors selling everything from religious amulets to T-shirts and colorful fruits that Ben doesn’t recognize. Earlier in the day, Ben had pointed to a particularly enormous, spiky fruit and asked the vendor - an unsmiling elderly woman - “How do you eat that?” She had looked at him as if he were particularly stupid, and then mimed picking it up and chewing it. “It is really pretty out now the lights are on. Everywhere looks like Times Square.”

“Quite a few people do say that Bangkok reminds them of New York,” Hux says. “I wouldn’t know; I haven’t been.”

“Really? You should come stay with me and my family when this is all over.”

Hux winces slightly. “Your parents wouldn’t want me there.”

“They’ll come around,” Ben says confidently. “Honestly, you’d probably be the most respectable guest they’ve ever had. My mom’s always marching for every cause under the sun and she always has to bail her activist friends out of jail and give them a place to stay, plus my dad likes to pick up weird hitchhikers - so there’s pretty much always some scruffy guy who smells like weed sleeping on our couch.”

“Sounds charming,” Hux says drily. 

“That reminds me,” Ben says, after a moment. “I’ve been wondering - how much longer do you have here in Vietnam, anyway? Aren’t you almost done with your tour?”

“This was meant to be a one-year tour, originally,” Hux says. “I’ve just submitted a request for another year here.”

Ben feels a rush of relief, followed by shame that he feels that way. “Hux - you know you’re kind of insane,” he says. “I mean, I’d be miserable here without you, but I still wish you’d go home where it’s safe.”

“Happily, it isn’t your decision to make,” Hux responds. “I haven’t yet accomplished what I came here to do.”

“But - you’re not really planning to stay here until you get the whole Army to change its strategy, are you?” Ben asks, somewhat horrified. “Hux, we can’t even get them to let us put our hands in our pockets or use umbrellas when it’s raining. You’ll die of old age before you get these generals to do anything that makes sense.” _Or something worse might happen to you,_ he thinks anxiously. 

“This isn’t the place to discuss it,” Hux says tightly, “but, yes, I am aware that what I’ve been doing to date has been ineffective, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Hux shrugs. “You’re not wrong. But for the moment let’s enjoy the evening.” The taxi pulls to a stop outside a steel door under a pink neon sign flashing in curly Thai script. Hux smiles at the bouncer as he opens the door. 

Inside, a cluster of small, crowded tables surrounds a brightly-lit stage. A group of women in silk sarongs and golden headdresses are on stage, singing in Thai. 

“Khun Armie!” A heavily made-up older woman in what appears to be a Marilyn Monroe costume appears at Hux’s elbow. She embraces him, kissing him loudly on both cheeks. “You came back! And this time you brought a friend.” She smiles at Ben and squeezes his bicep. “So handsome, too.” Ben smiles back, awkwardly. 

There are dark smears of lipstick on Hux’s face where she had kissed him; she pulls a handkerchief out of her cleavage and scrubs at his cheeks. Hux laughs. “It’s good to be back,” he says. “Khun Gem, this is my friend Benjamin - er, Kylo. He goes by Kylo.”

“I see,” she says, looking Ben up and down. Then she startles him by suddenly seizing his shoulders and pulling him down to kiss him full on the mouth. She winks at Hux. “You have good taste in _friends_ , Khun Armie!” 

“Uh, thanks,” Ben says, feeling a bit shell-shocked. The waxy taste of her lipstick is on his lips. “Nice to meet you.”

“What a sweet boy,” she coos, patting his chest. “Come in, come in! Welcome!” She shoos them towards an empty table. 

“How come she gets to call you Armie and I don’t?” Ben asks, half-jokingly, as she bustles off. 

“It’s her club,” Hux says with a shrug. “She can do whatever she likes.”

Ben leans towards Hux, lowering his voice. “Is she - she’s really a man, right?”

“Don’t be rude,” Hux says, opening the menu. “What are you drinking?”

“A beer, I guess. And I’m not trying to be rude, I was just wondering.”

“A Singha beer and a vodka martini,” Hux says to the waiter. Then, to Ben, he says, “She’s a _kathoey_ \- a drag queen. I’m not sure if she lives as a woman all the time, or only when she’s here; there’s all sorts.”

“Oh,” Ben says, digesting this. He gestures to the singers on stage. “Are they - also?” 

“Yes, all the performers here are _kathoeys_.”

Ben looks around at the other patrons. The crowd is mostly Thai, and nearly all male. There are a few other white men scattered around the room, some with military haircuts - Ben looks at them nervously, but Hux doesn’t seem concerned. The _kathoeys_ flit from table to table like glittering butterflies. The older Thai men are all wearing suits. Some of the younger ones are dressed, Ben thinks, like James Dean, in tight jeans and leather jackets. 

“What about him?” Ben whispers, as an attractive guy in a tight white t-shirt and dark jeans walks past their table. He glances at them with some interest. “You said they wouldn’t let me in dressed like that, but he’s here.”

“Those are fashionable jeans,” Hux responds. “Yours look like your mother picked them out for you.”

Ben opens his mouth to argue, then remembers that Leia had, in fact, bought him the jeans in question when they were on sale at Woolworth’s. Instead, he asks, “So are all the men here - you know?”

“I haven’t conducted an exhaustive survey,” Hux responds, “but I will say I feel comfortable here.” He puts a hand on Ben’s thigh. Ben feels a kind of dizzy swoop of happiness at the touch; it feels possessive, as if Hux is letting everyone in the club know that Ben belongs to him. 

“How’d you find this place, anyway?” he asks, watching another singer come onstage, this one dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Khun Gem introduces her in rapid, high-pitched Thai, pointing at some of the older men in suits who are sitting near the stage. She seems to be teasing them about something; they laugh in response. 

“The manager at our guesthouse recommended it last time I was here.” The waiter brings their drinks and a little silver tray of sweets. Hux raises his martini glass in Ben’s direction. “Cheers,” he says, taking a sip.

“Cheers,” Ben says. He takes a gulp of beer, his mind elsewhere. “You mean the guy who was helping us before? The one I said looked like the lost Thai member of the Beatles?” 

“Yes, him.”

“Oh. But - how did he know about you?” 

“I suppose he guessed.” Hux turns up his palms, as if to say “Who knows?” But he smiles slightly.

“Wait,” Ben says, as something dawns on him, “did you sleep with him?”

Hux frowns. “That isn’t any of your concern.” 

“That means yes.” Ben stares at Hux. “Hux, I can’t believe you. Even for you, that’s cold.”

Hux sighs, looking annoyed. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“I mean - bringing me back there! When that guy was right there! He saw us go up to the room together - “

“Keep your voice down,” Hux says. “And - so what? What does it matter?”

Ben shakes his head. “I just mean - I’d want to shoot myself if you did something like that to me.”

“Oh, did you imagine he must be suffering from a broken heart?” Now Hux looks amused. “Benjamin, most people aren’t like you - they don’t go about making mad passionate declarations after every meaningless encounter. He and I had a pleasant weekend together several months ago and then we happily went our separate ways.”

“But is that why you really came to Bangkok?” Ben demands, his fingers tightening on his beer bottle. “To see him?”

“Obviously not,” Hux says, “or I would hardly have invited you to come along.” He raises an eyebrow. “Or did you suppose I might be plotting to inveigle the two of you into an orgy?”

Ben flushes. “No - I just - “

“Shhh,” Hux says, pressing a cool finger to Ben’s lips and then leaning forward to kiss him lightly. Ben breathes in sharply: Hux has never done anything remotely similar in public before. “Stop being dramatic. Have a sweet.” 

He picks up a small pastry from the tray and pops it in Ben’s mouth. It tastes of lime and coconut. Feeling daring, Ben grabs Hux’s wrist and licks the powdered sugar off his fingers. 

“There you go,” Hux says, smiling at him, “that’s much better.”

***

In the dead of night Ben wakes, suddenly, gasping for breath. In his nightmare - always the same nightmare - he realizes a second too late that he’s stepped on the wrong patch of newly-turned earth, that a mine is about to go off under his foot. He’s frozen in that moment, not in the pain itself but the moment before the pain.

He reaches out for Hux in the dark, gathering Hux against his chest. His rapid heartbeat gradually slows as he breathes in the scent of Hux’s hair. 

Hux stirs in his arms. “Is something wrong?” he asks sleepily. 

“No. Just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s all right.” Hux nestles back against him. His bare skin is hot with sleep. 

Ben takes a deep breath. “I just - I can’t go back there.”

“I know,” Hux says. “Try not to think about it.”

“I’m really happy we did this. But it kind of makes it worse, you know? Having to go back. It makes me feel sick just to think about it.”

“I know,” Hux says again. He squeezes Ben’s hand.

“What if - what would happen if we just stayed here? I know they’ll stop me at the airport if I try to fly home. But, I mean, you like it here, I like it here. We could just stay.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hux says, sounding more awake now. 

“I’m not being silly. Maybe we could get jobs here.”

“As what?”

“I don’t know - I could work in a restaurant or be a security guard or something, maybe. And you’re an educated person, I’m sure some company would hire you.”

“Benjamin,” Hux says patiently, “this country is flooded with refugees. The whole region is at war, or almost at war. Those refugees are already doing the sort of work you mentioned - and for starvation wages. If they’re lucky. You’d be better off going back to your post.”

Ben sighs. “Well, what about you?”

“If I wanted to go home I would have done it already. And I’m not about to resign my commission just so that I can help you become an international fugitive.” Ben makes an unhappy noise. Hux wriggles in his arms and rolls over to face him. “But will it help if I suck your cock?”

Ben laughs. “Maybe,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Mostly they just have sex a lot, which hopefully is not an issue for anyone who’s made it this far in the story. Ben tops.
> 
> Period-Typical Homophobia/Transphobia: Ben asks if a trans woman is “really a man” and Hux tells him not to be rude. Also, Hux translates the Thai word “kathoey” as “drag queen,” when “trans woman” might be more accurate. However, I didn’t think characters in this time period would be likely to use that term, and I didn’t want to use any of the more derogatory terms that might have been in use. I’m happy to discuss this choice further if anyone has thoughts about how to handle it better. 
> 
> Also, Ben briefly references the fact that all he really knew about gay men when he was growing up came from encountering a couple of different predatory older men when he was in high school (he was not actually abused by either of them).
> 
> Additionally, if you’re interested in knowing more about queer life/identity in Bangkok during this period, there’s a fascinating academic article about it here (trigger warnings for extensive discussions of homophobia and violence - it centers around the murder of a white gay man in Bangkok in the 1960s): https://muse.jhu.edu/article/12116


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags and see detailed content warnings in the chapter endnotes if you have concerns.

“Sergeant,” Ben says, bursting into his squad’s tent and seeing Sergeant Dameron kneeling in a pile of gear, “I just got back - I saw the newspaper at the airport - what happened?” 

Ben and Hux had just gotten off the helicopter from Bien Hoa, after flying in from Bangkok the night before. They had spent the second week of their vacation at a cottage in Pattaya, where Hux could sit on the shady veranda reading while Ben swam for miles in the calm turquoise water. 

Under the surface the ocean was a multicolored fantasia of coral and fish; Ben had never seen anything like it. As a child he had especially loved the tropical tanks at the Coney Island aquarium, but, being accustomed to swimming in the cold grey Atlantic outside, it had always been difficult for him to imagine that there were real places that looked like that. Coral reefs were fantastic places, like Atlantis. And somehow he had slipped into the fantasy. 

Even Hux seemed infected by the peace of the place, to the point that he only grumbled slightly about hippies and defeatism whenever Ben wanted to practice folk songs on his guitar. Hux was not interested in swimming or in gazing at tropical fish, but he appeared to enjoy the ocean breeze and the sight of Ben shirtless and dripping wet in his swim trunks. In the evenings, once the sun was low enough that Hux felt comfortable venturing out onto the sand, they would walk along the beach to eat fresh fish at local seafood shacks.

In the car on the way back to Bangkok, Ben stared wistfully at the lush green countryside passing by. Outside, startlingly white limestone peaks thrust up through the patchwork of forest and rice paddies, reminding Ben of the Chinese ink paintings that his mother had sometimes taken him to see at the Met. The thought of going back to Lai Khe made him ache, physically, as if he had the flu. 

“I guess if it weren’t for the war, Vietnam would have nice places like this,” Ben remarked, looking out at a series of tidy wooden houses surrounded by flowering gardens. 

“Vietnam has nice places now,” Hux said, sounding slightly nettled. “The jungle around Lai Khe isn’t all of Vietnam. We’ll go to Saigon sometime; I’ll show you.”

At the airport, Ben absentmindedly picked up a week-old copy of _Pacific Stars & Stripes_ and glanced at the front page. “103 Reds Killed in Triple Attack on U.S. Battalion,” read the boldface headline. He scanned the article: “Fifty-six soldiers from the 1st Infantry Division were killed and more than sixty injured in eight hours of fierce fighting with a heavily-armored North Vietnamese regiment...” The dead soldiers had been based at Lai Khe. 

“Holy shit,” Ben said, in horror. Hux, who was sitting a few seats away, half-heartedly pretending not to know Ben, glanced up. “That’s Dagger Battalion! That’s my unit!”

“We got fucking ambushed, that’s what happened,” Dameron says now, tiredly. There’s a bandage on the side of his neck and he looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. “They told us not to say that to reporters, but it’s the truth.”

Ben looks frantically around the tent. Half the beds are empty and a guy he doesn’t recognize is lying on Rogers’ cot, flipping through a magazine. “Where is everyone? Where’s Corporal Finn?”

Dameron sighs. “He’s in the hospital in Long Binh. Clark and Garcia are there too. Rogers and Alvarez are dead.”

Ben’s stomach flops sickeningly. Rogers was the soldier who had taken over from him as RTO. “Alvarez - who’s Alvarez?”

“He got here right after you left,” Dameron says. “I told him to stick with Finn so that Finn could look out for him. He was from California and he looked like he was about twelve - that’s all I really got to know about him. The lieutenant and I were trying to write to his family and we didn’t even know what to say. Poor kid was only out here three days.”

“What - how bad is Corporal Finn hurt? What happened to them?” Dameron looks away, as though the question hurts him to hear. “Sorry,” Ben adds quickly. “You don’t have to talk about it - “

“It’s all right,” Dameron says. “Our platoon was on point for Alpha Company and we came across some enemy bunkers - we saw two guys jump out of a bunker and run into the woods. I sent Finn after them with his squad while the rest of the platoon cleared the bunkers. Finn’s squad - your squad - tripped the ambush.”

“Is - is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Dameron’s voice sounds raw. “He was unconscious by the time we were able to get to him - blood loss. We think he and Alvarez got hit by a Claymore mine. Then they had your squad pinned down under machine-gun fire and they sprayed us every time the rest of us tried to move closer to them. That’s how Rogers was killed. He was with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispers. 

“It’s not your fault.” Dameron rubs his hand over his face. “I’m the one who sent Finn after those guys - I should’ve realized it was a trap. They knew we were coming. They were ready for us.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Ben says, looking into Dameron’s red-rimmed eyes. He doesn’t know how to express the aching sympathy he feels. 

“I got too comfortable,” Dameron says flatly. “This whole time, we’ve only seen one or two VC here and there - just local farmers taking shots at us or planting mines. This was a main-force NVA unit with heavy weapons.” He shakes his head. “They’ve been telling us to go and find the enemy - well, we found him. And we got the shit kicked out of us.”

Ben looks at the pile of uniforms and gear on a tarp near Dameron’s feet - Rogers’ things, he realizes. Dameron must be packing it up to send to his family. Ben swallows hard. “Do you, uh, want help with that?” 

“Sure. Thanks.” Ben squats down on the muddy floor and begins trying to fold the uniforms neatly. 

Dameron fishes a battered _Playboy_ magazine out of the pile and tosses it on one of the empty beds. “Don’t need to send that home to his mother,” he remarks.

“I’ll take it,” Z says eagerly, poking his blond head up from his cot. The side of his face is bruised and swollen. 

“Ugh,” Ben says, “enjoy.” He rolls it up and throws it at Z, who catches it one-handed. His other arm is in a sling, Ben realizes.

Sorting through the pile, Ben wonders gloomily what his squadmates would make of his own possessions. His guitar is safely in Hux’s room - it’s too expensive to leave lying around, and he’s concerned that the humidity in the tent might warp the wood - but there’s his half-waterlogged notebook full of song lyrics, some of which are beginning to be obviously about Hux. There’s also a photograph in his backpack of himself and Hux at the snake show in Bangkok. In the picture, Ben is grinning broadly, with a large albino python draped over his shoulders. Hux is standing nearby, wrinkling his nose as he touches the python gingerly with one finger.

“I just feel bad,” Ben says, mostly to himself. He pulls a tattered copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ out of the pocket of Rogers’ uniform trousers, and his chest tightens: it occurs to him that Rogers might have been someone he would have liked, if he had gotten to know him. Rogers was a quiet kid, tall and skinny with unflattering Army-issue glasses that he was constantly polishing on his shirt, and Ben had never had a real conversation with him. “Finn told me he’d put in for R&R four times already and gotten turned down. Then I ended up getting it and I was fucking around in Bangkok while he was here.”

“It’s fucked-up, but it’s not your fuck-up,” Dameron says. “Finn shouldn’t even have been here in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Ben says morosely. “None of us should.”

“Not like that,” Dameron says impatiently. “He enlisted to stay out of the infantry. He signed on to do an extra year and in exchange they were going to make him a supply clerk.”

“So what happened?” Ben asks. He had been offered the same deal, but he had turned it down, figuring that it was better to roll the dice than to sign away another year - just another of his long list of fuck-ups, he has often thought since. “They just didn’t do it?”

Dameron sighs. “He was supposed to be working in the supply office up at the battalion headquarters. But when he got there the lieutenant had already grabbed some buddy of his - some white guy - to do the job, and he said he didn’t need Finn. They knew we were undermanned, so they sent him down here.”

Ben stares at Dameron. Ben has heard the black soldiers in their platoon complaining that they never get picked up for the coveted safe jobs in the rear, but he had no idea that Finn had been so blatantly screwed over. “That’s some bullshit, Sergeant,” he says with feeling. 

“You’re telling me,” Dameron says. His mouth twists wryly. “By the way, congratulations on your new job!”

Ben feels a wave of nausea. “Oh. Am I taking over as RTO again?” _Now that Rogers is dead._

“No. You didn’t hear? You got that job as the general’s driver up at Di An. I’m supposed to find you a ride up that way tomorrow or the next day, so don’t unpack.”

“What?” Ben says, confused. “I don’t know anything about any generals - and I can’t just leave - I need to - “ _I need to stay here with Hux._

Dameron looks skeptical. “Did you really not know about this? It’s a pretty sweet gig - you’ll be out of the field, sleeping in a real bed, eating hot chow three times a day. Probably taking the general to parties in Saigon. I figured you must have a buddy up there who helped you get it.”

“I don’t even know where Di An is,” Ben says. “Honestly, I don’t know where this is coming from - I didn’t ask for any new job. I don’t even want to leave.”

“I bet I know how he got it,” Z says, sitting up suddenly on his cot. “I bet it was that lieutenant, that red-headed guy who came with us on patrol that one time. You were all over him like it was prom night - “

Ben stands up so fast his head spins. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, clenching his fists. Dameron grabs his arm. 

“I knew it,” Z says, staring at him. “I fucking knew it! Is that how you got your R&R approved so fast? You suck his dick and he helps you get out of shit - “

“Shut up, Z,” Dameron snaps, hanging on to Ben as he lunges in Z’s direction. “And Solo - what the fuck? You really going to jump him when he can’t even use his fucking arm?”

“Sorry,” Ben mutters. His heart is pounding. He feels as if he might be about to throw up. 

“I’m not even mad,” Z says, looking at him innocently. “You’re just smarter than me, that’s all. I’d suck a dick too if it would get me out of this shithole - “

“Go fuck yourself,” Ben says furiously, unsuccessfully trying to shake off Dameron’s grip on his arm.

“If you don’t shut your fucking mouth, Z, I’m going to let Solo beat the shit out of you just to make a point,” Dameron says, exasperated. “And Solo, I don’t have the energy for this bullshit with the two of you today. Get out of here. Go take a walk or something.”

“Yeah,” Z says, “go celebrate with your boyfriend.”

“Z!” Dameron shouts. “Enough!”

Ben wants so badly to hit Z that his hands are shaking, but it occurs to him that overreacting to Z’s comments will only make it look more as if they’re true. He forces himself to take a deep breath and turn his back to Z. “Sergeant,” he says, “one other thing - are you going to visit Corporal Finn and the other guys anytime soon?”

“Yeah, hopefully, as soon as I can get a ride to Long Binh,” Dameron says. “Why?”

Ben reaches into his backpack. “He asked me to bring back a bottle of whiskey,” he says, handing the bottle to Dameron. His eyes sting suddenly. “So we could all celebrate together when you guys got back from the mission.”

“I’ll bring it to him,” Dameron says, his face softening. He looks down at the bottle and laughs. “What is this shit - is that a snake in the bottom? You trying to finish him off, Solo?”

“Uh,” Ben says sheepishly, “Hu- my buddy thought I should get some actual good-quality whiskey, but I saw this in a souvenir shop in Pattaya and I thought it would be funny. I guess I should’ve gotten something else.”

“Nah, this is perfect,” Dameron says. “He’ll get a kick out of it. And hey - if the Vietcong can’t kill him and your whiskey can’t kill him, then hell, he’ll probably live forever.”

***

As Ben steps out of the tent into the hot sunshine, almost every soldier he recognizes seems to be injured in some way - walking on crutches, bandaged faces, limbs in casts. A freckled kid from Delta Company seems to have come over to the Alpha Company area specifically to show off a splint on his hand that makes his middle finger appear to be comically large. “Finally I get to flip off all these fucking officers and they can’t say shit,” he’s saying gleefully to a group of friends as Ben walks by. 

There are quite a few unfamiliar faces, too - newly-arrived replacements for Alpha Company’s casualties, Ben realizes. They stand about in nervous clusters of two or three, looking scared. Ben feels as if he should say something to them, but he doesn’t know what; it isn’t as if there’s anything he could tell them that would reassure them. 

He wonders if he should stay away from Hux, to avoid immediately confirming Z’s suspicions, but his feet take him up the hill to the brigade headquarters almost automatically. He circles the building warily from the treeline and slips in through the side door when he’s fairly certain that no one is looking. 

Hux is not in his office. Ben sits down on the floor to wait for him, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning against the wall. He takes a deep breath. The particular smell of Hux’s office - books and old wood and Hux’s cigarettes - always relaxes him. 

As he shifts his weight, something jabs him in the leg, and he reaches into his pocket to pull it out. He laughs a little when he sees it: it’s a small, carved wooden penis, anatomically correct except for a beatifically smiling face carved just under the head. He had purchased it from a roadside stand in Bangkok, just before he and Hux went on a boat tour of the canals. 

“You know, that’s a religious amulet,” Hux had said to him at the time, pursing his lips in disapproval, “not a sex toy.”

Ben grinned at him. “Yeah? What kind of religious rituals do you do with it?”

“You carry it around, I suppose. Or leave it at a shrine - there’s one at a luxury hotel near here that has hundreds of them. We can go see it later if you like. It’s for fertility, I think. Or luck.”

“I would’ve gotten out of bed a lot faster if you’d told me we were going to the lucky penis shrine,” Ben said. He had been deeply unenthusiastic about the canal tour, which began shortly after dawn, but Hux had insisted. It was one of a number of Bangkok attractions that Hux seemed to believe were mandatory, as if he were ticking off a prescribed checklist. “I could use some luck. And carrying around a lucky penis is so much cooler than a rabbit’s foot.”

 _Maybe it worked_ , Ben thinks grimly, staring at his lucky charm now. It seems like a very long time since he bought it, even though in reality it had been only just over a week. He closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, wishing himself back on the canal boat with Hux. 

It had been startlingly lovely, despite Ben’s unhappiness about being dragged out of bed so early. Ben and Hux sat facing each other, leaning back in low chairs, as their long-tail boat skimmed first over the broad shining water of the Chao Phraya river and then turned into a narrow canal overhung by brilliant orange flame trees. Children waved at them from the banks. Hux bought some fresh chopped mango from a young woman in another boat, and fed it to Ben from his dripping fingers while the boatman’s back was turned.

“Picture yourself in a boat on the river,” Ben sang, “where tangerine trees meet marmalade skies...”

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Hux said thoughtfully, holding out the last piece of mango. “What song is that?”

Ben laughed. “Are you serious? It’s only been the number-one album basically everywhere since June.” He leaned forward to bite into the mango and lick the last drops of juice from Hux’s fingers. “Little band called the Beatles, you might’ve heard of them.”

Hux wrinkled his nose. “Of course I’ve heard of them. But it’s not my sort of music.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s not,” he said. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked you this before, but what is your sort of music?” 

“I quite like jazz,” Hux said, somewhat to Ben’s surprise; he had half expected Hux to say that music was a waste of time, or that he only listened to eighteenth-century harpsichord sonatas. “I have all Billie Holiday’s records at home.”

“That’s so funny,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the sad-blues-song type. My mom loves that stuff.”

“Your mother seems to have surprisingly sensible views about certain things,” Hux says, “for a socialist.”

“My man, he don’t love me,” Ben sang, “he treats me awful mean - “

Hux swatted at him. “Stop that,” he said. “You’re butchering it.”

“You know that song is supposed to be a sad lament, right?” Ben said. “Not a relationship how-to manual.”

“Do be quiet,” Hux said. They were nearing the mouth of the canal, re-entering the river. Hux waved a hand in the direction of a distant series of shining golden rooftops that looked like a location from a fairy tale. “Enjoy the view of the Grand Palace. Since you refuse to wear a coat and tie, this is likely the most we’ll see of it.”

“You’re lucky I actually think it’s kind of hot when you’re mean to me,” Ben said, ignoring the Grand Palace and nudging Hux’s ankle with his bare foot. Much to Hux’s disgust, he had recently purchased a pair of sandals made of old car tires, which had the advantage of being comfortable, cheap, and also the only sort of shoe sold in Bangkok that seemed to come in sizes large enough to fit Ben’s feet. “Like how you keep calling me ‘Benjamin’ even though I asked you to call me ‘Kylo.’ I’d be mad about it except you kind of sound like a stern schoolteacher who’s about to spank me.”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “I see we’ve only begun to plumb the depths of your depravity,” he said. “I suppose at least that will keep things interesting.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, smirking, “you can plumb my depths anytime you want.”

Ben is half-asleep, remembering this, when Hux’s office door clicks open. The current, stiffly-uniformed Hux looks very different from the boy who had lounged on a boat with Ben and let him lick mango juice off his fingers. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly, locking the door behind him and walking towards Ben, “but - I imagine it must have been a very shocking scene down at your company area.”

Ben wraps his arms around Hux’s legs and presses his face against the bare skin of his thighs, just below his shorts. “Yeah,” he mutters. “My fucking platoon got ambushed. Half of them are dead or in the hospital.”

Hux strokes his hair. “I know,” he says. “Your entire battalion was ambushed, really - I was just at an after-action report on the incident. They’re still trying to claim it as an American victory. Based on the body count.”

“It didn’t look like much of a victory down at my tent.”

“I’m sure it didn’t. A body count is an absurdly inefficient way to measure success in a counterinsurgency fight.” Ben is hardly in the mood to discuss Hux’s ideas about military strategy, but there’s something soothing about his professorial tone. He burrows his face more deeply into Hux’s thighs. “Besides, the enemy body count is almost certainly exaggerated. Their methods almost amount to a confidence scheme - “

“And,” Ben says, interrupting what sounds certain to be a long lecture, “my platoon sergeant just told me they’re sending me to some other base. I won’t be able to see you anymore.”

“Are they sending you to be the division commander’s driver at Di An?”

“Yes - how’d you know?”

“So the orders came down then,” Hux says, sounding pleased. “Excellent!”

Ben lets go of Hux and stands up. “Wait - so you _did_ arrange this? You’re sending me away?”

“You really are inordinately dim sometimes,” Hux says, sounding exasperated. “Half your platoon is dead or wounded and you wonder why I want you to take a safe job in the rear? I would have mentioned it before but I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“I don’t want to be separated from you,” Ben whispers, mindful of the thin walls. “And I already feel like shit because I was having fun in Thailand while my platoon was getting slaughtered. I can’t just run out on them now.”

“Of course you can,” Hux says impatiently. “If you’d been here you’d only have been another body for them to carry out of Long Nguyen. There’s no reason for you to remain where you are.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother and her peacenik friends,” Ben says. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one who believes in this war?”

“I do believe in this war,” Hux says, his face reddening angrily. “I believe in defending democracy in Southeast Asia. I don’t believe in rank stupidity. I don’t believe in asking good soldiers to march into machine-gun fire to no purpose.”

Ben laughs suddenly. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever suggested that I might be a good soldier.”

“Oh, rest assured, I had to use all my powers of imagination to make you sound like the sort of useful individual whom a general would want to have on his personal staff,” Hux says crossly. “But that isn’t the point. Do you understand what General Westmoreland’s strategy here really is?”

“Probably not,” Ben says, “but I feel like you’re going to explain it to me regardless of what I say.”

Hux glares at him. “He’s pursuing a strategy of attrition,” he says, “which means, essentially, that he’s bet the war on his belief that your government can afford to keep marching soldiers into machine-gun fire for longer than Hanoi can. It’s unutterably idiotic. Very wasteful. I’ve done my best to persuade your leadership to reconsider, but obviously no one is listening to me.” He lowers his voice. “At the very least, if I can manage to fish you out of the meat grinder, I mean to do it.”

Ben puts his arms around Hux, kissing the side of his face. Hux stands stiffly for a moment, still angry, then relaxes against Ben. “You know, Hux,” Ben says quietly, “sometimes I think you might actually care about me, even though you won’t admit it.”

“Yes, well,” Hux whispers, his breath fluttering against Ben’s ear, “it’s possible that your performance in bed may have caused me to develop a tolerance for your aggravating personality. It’s a sort of - of operant conditioning.”

“Uh-huh,” Ben says, “whatever you want to call it.”

“In any case,” Hux says, wriggling away, “you’d better run along. I have work to do. I’m sure my embassy will want a full report on what happened here.”

“I don’t want to go back to my company area,” Ben says. He considers whether to tell Hux about Z’s comments, but he’s afraid that Hux will refuse to see him at all if he thinks they’re in danger of being found out. Besides, he tells himself, Z was just fucking with him, not making a serious accusation. “Can I just go wait for you in your room?”

“I suppose, if you like,” Hux says, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his shorts and detaching one to hand to Ben. “Don’t let anyone see you going in there. And don’t track mud in.”

“Got it,” Ben says. He can hear people talking in the hallway, so he slides out through the window and heads into the cool greenness of the rubber trees.

Hux’s room is warm and smells faintly of him - his hair gel, his tea and tobacco. Ben’s guitar is in its case under the bed. It feels oddly domestic, as if they could really live here together, like an ordinary couple. _I don’t want to go to Di An_ , he thinks. _I just want to stay here._ He feels suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted. He pulls off his uniform and boots and flops down on Hux’s neatly-made bed. 

He wakes sometime later, with a start, feeling confused and disoriented. It’s dark outside now; the lamp is on. Hux is sitting in the armchair next to the bed, wearing his thin black robe. The smoke from his cigarette curls up towards the ceiling.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Hux says, looking up from his book. “I will admit, it is rather pleasant to come back here and find you naked in my bed. Even if you do insist on sleeping on top of the sheets like a barbarian.”

“This is basically all I ever want to do,” Ben says drowsily. “Be naked in your bed, I mean. I don’t want to do anything else.”

“I thought you had aspirations of becoming a pop star.”

Ben laughs. “Something like that. But I’d still want to spend most of my time naked in bed with you regardless.” He reaches out to Hux. “Why don’t you join me?” 

“Because I enjoy looking at you,” Hux says. He takes a drag from his cigarette. “Lie on your back and fold your arms behind your head... yes, just like that.” He smiles, looking Ben over. “You’re being so good and obedient at the moment. Very unusual.”

Ben is half-hard already, just from the way Hux is looking at him; his cock twitches at those words. “Yeah?” he says, his voice rough. It feels good to turn his brain off, to stop thinking and just follow Hux’s orders. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“Hmmm,” Hux says, thoughtfully. “Go ahead and touch yourself. Get yourself hard for me.”

“No problem,” Ben says, licking his palm and reaching down to grab his cock, pumping it slowly, as Hux watches. That little smile is still on Hux’s lips. The cigarette dangles from his thin fingers. “You like that?”

“I do,” Hux says. He stubs out his cigarette and opens the nightstand drawer - to find the lube, Ben assumes, but instead he pulls out a small camera, a cheap Brownie. “May I take a photograph of you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ben says, without thinking, then wonders if he should have said no - but then, he thinks, what does he really have to lose? If the pictures somehow get Ben kicked out of the Army, then so much the better. Besides, he likes the idea of Hux looking at these photographs when he isn’t here. “How do you want me?”

“Just like that,” Hux says, advancing the film and adjusting the focus ring, “hold still - with your hand on your cock - perfect - “ 

Ben does his best to stay still, squeezing his cock, as Hux stands up and walks around the bed, photographing him from various angles. In between photographs Hux steps towards him to pinch at his nipples, to press his thighs farther apart, to stroke his balls lightly so that his stiff cock drips onto his fingers. “Hux,” he says pleadingly, “can I go back to jerking off - this is driving me crazy - “

“Put both your hands behind your head,” Hux orders. “I want to take some pictures without your hand in the way.”

“This is even worse,” Ben groans, but he obeys. 

Hux taps his lower lip thoughtfully, still looking Ben over. “I have an idea,” he announces, untying his robe. 

“That’s a good idea,” Ben says encouragingly, reaching for him again. Hux evades his grip; instead, he wraps the soft cotton belt from his robe around Ben’s wrists and ties them to the headboard. Ben’s cock aches between his legs. “Oh, fuck - Hux - please touch me - “

“That’s it exactly,” Hux says, looking pleased, stepping back to adjust the camera and snap more pictures. “I love that desperate expression on your face. Yes - there you go, arch your back, that’s beautiful.”

“Hux, _please._ ” The headboard of the bed rattles against the wall as Ben squirms. Hux’s black robe is hanging open now; his cock is hard and flushed pink. Ben wants to taste it. “Come over here? Let me suck you?”

“I was going to see how long I could keep you begging,” Hux says, “but I _do_ want a few pictures of my cock in your mouth.” He shrugs off his robe and drapes it over the chair.

“Yeah,” Ben pants, as Hux kneels over his face, “and I want copies of those pictures -“ He looks up at the camera, licking at the tip of Hux’s cock as Hux brushes it teasingly against his lips. The shutter clicks. 

_Is that how it works, you suck his dick and he gets you out of shit_ , says Z’s mocking voice somewhere in Ben’s brain, like a drop of something toxic into the sweetness of the moment. Ben squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the taste and feeling of Hux’s cock sliding deeper into his mouth. The shutter clicks again. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, hearing Hux squeak as Ben begins sucking him hard, _fuck all of them - this is all I want, all I ever want to do -_ Ben opens his eyes to watch Hux’s flushed, ecstatic face as he thrusts into Ben’s mouth, his cock leaking freely onto Ben’s tongue.

“That’s enough,” Hux gasps, eventually. “I want to ride your cock - get me ready - “ 

Ben rattles his bound wrists. “Untie me then?” 

“No. With your mouth.”

“Nngh,” Ben says, as Hux sets down the camera and moves to straddle his face. He licks into Hux eagerly, enjoying the salty taste of his skin and the little high-pitched sounds he’s making. Hux is holding onto the headboard with both hands, squirming against Ben’s mouth, pressing down so heedlessly that Ben can barely breathe. 

“You’re so good,” Hux sighs, moving off him and reaching for the lube. “I could get used to this - just keeping you tied to my bed here so that I can do whatever I like to you, whenever I want - “

“Yeah,” Ben pants, “that’s exactly what I want - fuck!” He writhes as Hux strokes his cock lingeringly with a slippery hand. 

“God, you’re big,” Hux groans, lining himself up and beginning to lower himself down slowly onto Ben’s cock. Ben whimpers, tensing every muscle, as he tries not to move. “You like that? Being tied up and helpless while I use your cock however I like?”

“Oh - Jesus - you get me so hard,” Ben moans, “I’m so close - “

“You’re not allowed to come yet,” Hux announces, his face pink. “Make me come first - I want to come all over you - “ He’s leaning forward, his hands on Ben’s chest, squeezing and stroking his pecs. Ben braces his feet on the bed and rolls his hips up, thrusting into the wet heat of Hux’s body, willing himself to last. “Oh - like that - that’s so good - make me feel it - “

Encouraged, Ben thrusts harder, bouncing Hux on his cock, snapping his hips. Hux’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes rolled back, as if he’s loving it, as if he can’t get enough. Ben’s balls tighten, his back arching helplessly. He bites down hard on his lower lip, thinking, _don’t come yet, don’t do it -_

“Oh - oh _fuck_!” Hux yelps, his body going rigid, clenching down around Ben’s cock, as his come spurts onto Ben’s stomach and chest. 

_I did that, I made him come, just from my cock inside him,_ Ben thinks deliriously, and then he’s coming too, heat jolting through him like an electric current. He goes limp on the bed, feeling as if the poison that had been leaking into his brain has been mostly expelled. His thighs are pleasantly sore. Hux’s body is a warm weight on top of him.

“Ugh,” Hux says after a moment, climbing off carefully and reaching for a tissue, “I need another shower.”

“Don’t go yet,” Ben says sleepily, as Hux unties his hands and scrubs at his chest with the tissue. “Stay with me.”

“Oh all right,” Hux says, flopping back down and tucking his head under Ben’s chin, “if you insist.”

“I do,” Ben says, clutching Hux tightly against his chest. It occurs to him that he had sometimes seen Sergeant Dameron holding Finn the same way, when they were asleep out in the field, and he feels a nauseating sense of guilt overwhelm him. He wonders again how bad Finn’s injuries had been. Ben had gotten to set up and fire a Claymore mine once during infantry training at Fort Benning - it had been rather fun at the time, setting up the mine on its little metal legs and laughing at the “Front Towards Enemy” warning on its plastic face. “That’s to make it infantry-proof,” said the instructor. “Hope you fuckers know how to read.” Now the memory of the steel pellets tearing through the paper target makes him wince.

“Hux,” he says, “you know - I really appreciate you looking out for me with this job at Di An - but I don’t think I can do it.”

Hux pushes Ben away and sits bolt upright. “You can’t be serious,” he says, sounding annoyed. “Of course you can do it. The general’s a bit of a bastard, but he’s not nearly so bad as the Vietcong.” He looks alarmed suddenly. “You _can_ drive, can’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, I can drive - my dad’s a truck driver, I’ve been going on runs with him off and on since I was fourteen,” Ben says. “Mostly so I could drive when he was too drunk. That’s not the problem. I just don’t think I should leave my platoon. And I want to stay here with you.”

“If you turn down this job you’ll never see me again,” Hux snaps. “I’d rather disentangle myself now, by choice, than be forced to do it later when you get yourself killed.”

Ben tries to put his arms around Hux; Hux swats him away. “Hux, please,” he says. “Don’t be like that.”

“Besides,” Hux says, his voice brittle, “I wasn’t planning to tell you this just yet, but I’ve taken a new job as well.”

“Wait - what?” Ben sits up as well, alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to work for CORDS - it’s a new organization that was stood up earlier this year. It’s meant to bring all the various pacification programs under one chain of command.”

“Okay,” Ben says slowly. “But where is it? And what are you going to be doing there?”

“It’s headquartered in Saigon. If you take this job you’ll be in Saigon fairly often with your boss. If you stay here I’m not coming back for you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?” Ben asks, uneasily. “That makes everything different.” Hux bites his lip and doesn’t answer. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You’ll just be working in an office in Saigon, right?”

“No,” Hux says, tilting his chin up and looking Ben in the eye. “I volunteered to be part of a new initiative.” Ben’s stomach clenches like a fist. “I’ll be part of a team of military advisors to the Popular Forces - the village defense forces. We’ll live with them and work with them to protect their villages from the Vietcong.”

“What the fuck,” Ben says, horrified. “Is this your - your thing that you were talking about? Your pet project where we go live out in the boonies and, I don’t know, teach the villagers to kill Communists with pointy sticks or whatever?”

“Something like that,” Hux says. He looks pleased with himself. “Have you seen ‘Seven Samurai’? It’s rather like that.”

“This isn’t a fucking movie!” Ben explodes. “You’re going to get killed! You came with us. You saw what it’s like. They hate us out there - they’re all working with the enemy - “

“Only because of _your_ army’s failed strategy,” Hux says, irritably. “If your leadership weren’t so intent on carrying out half-baked World War II-style operations that cause massive civilian casualties, they wouldn’t have turned to the Communists. You have to give the people an alternative to the Vietcong.”

“Or we could just go the fuck home and let them figure out their own fucking country!” Hux looks slightly taken aback, and Ben realizes he’s shouting. He lowers his voice. “Look - you know I don’t care about the politics - whatever. I just don’t want you to get your fucking throat cut in your sleep!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll set a watch.”

“You said they’re headquartered in Saigon,” Ben says. “You like Saigon. Why can’t you just stay there? Write reports or something. Tell them how they’re all fucked up. You’re good at that.”

Hux laughs. “This initiative is exactly the sort of thing I’ve been proposing since before I arrived,” he says firmly. “It would be cowardly to ask others to do what I wouldn’t dare to do myself.”

Ben doesn’t say that when Hux first brought up the idea of having squads live among the people they were supposed to be protecting, he had assumed exactly that - that it was an officer’s bright idea that draftees like Ben would be saddled with carrying out. “Fine,” he says instead. “Then take me with you.”

Hux looks surprised. “What - to be a military advisor? I thought you were opposed to the entire concept.”

Ben shrugs. “I’d still rather be out there with you than be safe somewhere else.”

“You’re very sweet,” Hux says impatiently, “but not very practical. We’d be certain to be found out if I insisted on having you assigned to my small team. Besides, you haven’t got any of the necessary skills. They’re looking for counterinsurgency experts, medics, linguists, _et cetera_ \- not aspiring musicians.”

Ben puts his face in his hands. “Hux,” he says despairingly through his fingers, “no one’s even going to tell me if something happens to you. I’ll only find out if it’s bad enough to make the papers.”

“I’ll leave a letter for you. To be mailed in the event of my death, that sort of thing.”

Ben groans. “I’m going to find out from a _letter_?”

“What would you prefer, a singing telegram?” Ben tries to respond, but it comes out as a sob. Hux pats his shoulder. “I’ll certainly do my best to not die. But I can’t put you down for an official military notification, it would look suspicious.”

Ben sniffs loudly. “I just - please don’t do this.”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea and a sandwich from the kitchen,” Hux says briskly, standing up and reaching for his robe. “That will help.”

“No it won’t.” Ben rubs at his damp face with his hands. His head aches. “You’re leaving and I’m afraid you’re going to die. What good is a sandwich going to do?”

“We’re all going to die, eventually,” Hux says, “it’s the human condition.” He slides his fingers through Ben’s hair, gently massaging his scalp. “In the meantime, you should have a sandwich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Violence: Ben comes back to find that his battalion has been ambushed and has lost dozens of soldiers. Finn is seriously wounded, although he’s not dead. All the violence happens off-screen, so to speak, and there are no graphic descriptions. However, there is a brief reference to blood and numerous references to combat violence, injuries, and the deaths of two OMCs.
> 
> \- Homophobia: an OMC in Ben’s squad guesses that Hux has been helping Ben and makes several homophobic comments about it. 
> 
> \- Racism: Poe tells Ben that Finn was supposed to have a different, safer job as a supply clerk, but he was sent to Ben’s infantry unit because a white officer chose to give the job to a white friend of his instead. 
> 
> \- Sex: Hux ties Ben up, takes pictures of him, and they have sex. It’s explicitly consensual but there is a significant power imbalance between them, as previously noted.
> 
> Acknowledgements: the ambush referenced in this chapter is a slightly fictionalized version of the battle described in _They Marched Into Sunlight_. Also, there really was a soldier in that unit who was unexpectedly approved for R&R just before the battle, and, like Ben, he found out what had happened to his unit from a newspaper at the airport. The headline that Ben reads at the beginning is a direct quote from that newspaper. 
> 
> The two songs that Ben sings at Hux on the boat are the Beatles’ “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and Billie Holiday’s “Fine and Mellow.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see endnotes for detailed chapter warnings.

“Private Solo?”

Ben looks up, surprised, then remembers that his name is printed on his uniform. “Yeah?”

The bartender - who is startlingly handsome, with dark eyes and a soft, pretty mouth - winks at Ben. “He’s waiting for you. In the back.” He jerks his head in the direction of a decorative screen with cranes painted on it. Across the room, by the edge of the screen, Ben catches a glimpse of red hair glinting in the candlelight. His heart pounds. 

“Thanks,” he says to the bartender, realizing suddenly who he must be. “Henri, right?”

“That’s right,” Henri says, smiling at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, man,” Ben says, “seriously - thanks for helping us out. Means a lot.”

“My pleasure,” Henri says. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

It’s been almost a month since Ben last saw Hux. Two weeks earlier, Ben had nearly had a heart attack when he received a envelope in the mail, addressed to _Private Benjamin Solo_ in Hux’s spidery script. _I’ll leave a letter for you, to be mailed in the event of my death._ Then he nearly had a second heart attack when he ripped open the envelope in the middle of the general’s front office and the glossy color snapshots of him sucking Hux’s cock came slithering out. 

“Everything all right, dear?” asked Mrs. Nguyen, the general’s secretary, glancing up at him as he cursed under his breath and tried frantically to stuff the photographs back into the torn envelope.

“Yes, ma’am, just fine,” Ben said meekly, shoving them into his trouser pocket. 

When he was able to examine them more closely later, in private, he found that Hux had written _Looking forward to seeing you again_ on the back of one of the photographs. There was no other note, or signature, or return address, but at least it sounded as if Hux was thinking about him. Maybe. About his mouth, at least. 

Once, Hux had managed to call the general’s office when Ben was there. It was difficult to say anything personal with Mrs. Nguyen sitting just feet away; Ben couldn’t even safely be sarcastic about his new job, which he very much wanted to be. Hux, at least, sounded happy, even though nothing that he had to say was particularly reassuring to Ben. 

“How many guys are out there with you, anyway?” Ben asked. “Are you really doing this with just a squad?”

“I’ve got four military,” Hux said. “Another lieutenant, two enlisted weapons specialists, and a medic.”

“ _Four?_ ” Ben repeated, horrified. “That’s not even a squad! The fuck are the five of you going to do if your village gets attacked?”

“Well, there’s seven of us altogether,” Hux said cheerfully. “We’ve also got a local translator and a fellow from the State Department who specializes in rural development.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s going to make a big difference,” Ben said. “What’s he going to do, spray fertilizer at the VC? At least the translator probably knows how to say ‘please don’t shoot us’ in Vietnamese.”

“Ever the optimist,” Hux observed drily. “We’re lucky to have so many - your senior commanders don’t seem very interested in funding us. I’ve had to pay for half our supplies out of my own pocket. We’re eating rice and fish sauce twice a day. And the team was meant to be led by a captain and an experienced first lieutenant - but instead I’m in charge and they sent me a second lieutenant straight out of West Point. At least he seems enthusiastic and eager to learn.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben says irritably, now distracted by a new concern. “What’re you teaching him, exactly?”

Hux laughed. “Nothing that would interest you,” he said, “so you can leave off with your scurrilous insinuations. Besides, even if I were inclined to try anything, I’m certain it would be a lost cause. I’ve never seen such a varied collection of heterosexual pornography - it must have filled most of his rucksack.”

“He’s sharing it with you, huh?”

“You seem to quite enjoy your jealous fantasies,” Hux said, “so I won’t puncture them with the prosaic reality of the situation. In any case, I was going to say - my little team and I won’t have to face the Vietcong on our own. We’ve organized the men of the village into three platoons and we’re doing daily drills with them.”

“Uh-huh,” Ben said. “Out of curiosity, are any of the ‘men of the village’ under seventy?”

“The average age is a bit older than would be ideal for a military unit,” Hux admits, “but then it is a village defense force, not the ARVN. And we’ve got some younger men in the mix.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that all the young guys have gone off to join the Vietcong and now you’re teaching their dads and grandfathers how to fight.” Ben shakes his head. 

“We’re teaching them to provide for their own security,” Hux insists. “It’s the only real way forward in this war.”

“I’m glad you’re getting to do what you came here to do, I guess,” Ben says, “but I have to say, if I was some old guy who was minding my own business and you showed up in my village and started ordering me around and making me do military drills - I’d immediately become a Communist sympathizer.” Mrs. Nguyen looks up from her typewriter and frowns at him. “Just kidding,” he adds hastily. 

“As if you aren’t one already,” Hux says, sounding exasperated. “At least my conversations with you are good practice for encounters with our ideological enemies.”

Aside from that phone call, Ben’s only contact with Hux had been through Henri. “How am I ever going to even talk to you if you’re going to spend the rest of your tour out in some godforsaken village in the Delta?” he had asked Hux, despairingly, as he watched Hux pack to leave Lai Khe. 

“You can leave messages for me at the Hotel Continental in Saigon,” Hux said briskly. “I always stay there when I’m in the city. There’s a bartender there who’s a friend of mine - I’ll call and check in with him from the district office if I can’t reach you directly.”

Thanks to Henri, Ben had been able to let Hux know that he would be on pass in Saigon for Thanksgiving weekend, but he hadn’t been sure until this moment that Hux would actually be there to meet him. Throughout the day, as he drove the general from one mess-hall Thanksgiving to another and listened to him proudly repeat the same quasi-joke to each group of uninterested soldiers (“You know 57,000 turkeys flew all the way from America so that you boys could have a real home-cooked meal! Pretty good for a flightless bird”), Ben gnawed anxiously at his lower lip, wondering how long Hux would wait for him at the Continental, or if he had been able to come to Saigon at all. 

It’s evening now, and there’s a festive feeling in the brightly-lit streets. The air is pleasantly cool. The bar is full of soldiers and reporters and girls in silk dresses. 

Hux looks up and smiles when he sees Ben making his way towards him through the crowd. There are several empty glasses on the table in front of him, and his face is flushed. “Hello stranger,” he says. 

“Hey,” Ben says, grinning. “You come here often?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Hux says, as Ben squeezes in to sit down next to him. Hux is not in uniform, and his neat pinstripe shirt is open at the throat. Ben wants to dishevel him further. “The martinis here are excellent.” 

“Somehow I don’t think you come here for the martinis.”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” He holds his drink out to Ben. “Try it, you might change your mind.”

Ben tastes it, rather distractedly. It’s good, sharp and cold, but he isn’t much of a judge. “Your _friend_ at the bar, Henri.” He elbows Hux. “He looks like a Brylcreem ad.”

Hux laughs. He puts his hand on Ben’s thigh, under the edge of the tablecloth. “Jealous?”

Ben shakes his head. “I should’ve known,” he says. “Do you only ever stay at hotels where your ex-boyfriends work?”

“He was never my boyfriend,” Hux says, taking a sip of his drink, “but yes, I do prefer to patronize establishments where I feel comfortable and welcome.”

“He made you feel welcome, huh?”

“On occasion,” Hux says serenely, sliding his hand higher up Ben’s thigh. “Not recently.”

“You know I was actually having conversations with this guy? I mean, I told him that I miss you.”

“I know,” Hux says, squeezing his thigh. “He passed on the message. And your tendency to be indiscreet is exactly why I wanted you to leave messages for me with Henri, not at the district office.”

Ben leans closer to Hux’s ear. “So I’m the indiscreet one? You’ve got your hand on my leg in front of all these people.”

“Would you rather I had my hand somewhere else?” Hux cups Ben’s cock suddenly, fondling him through his trousers.

Ben lets out a squeak. “Holy shit, Hux,” he whispers, feeling dizzy at the sudden rush of blood to his groin. The bar is dimly lit and they’re partly hidden behind the decorative screen, but still. A group of loud sailors at the next table are just feet away. “What if someone sees what you’re doing?”

“No one will notice anything as long as you can manage to keep quiet,” Hux whispers back. He’s massaging Ben’s erection more purposefully now, squeezing and stroking him. Ben groans. “Of course that might present a problem. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Ben whimpers. His face feels hot. He can feel sweat beading on his forehead. “Hux - you - you’re fucking crazy.”

“You seem to be enjoying it.”

“You’re jerking me off in public - _fuck_ \- of course I’m enjoying it - “

“I thought you might,” Hux says, under his breath. “Jealousy always seems to get you into quite a mood.” Ben gasps as Hux changes the angle of his wrist to get a better grip. “Tell me - would you ever want to watch someone else fuck me? I could tie you up and make you watch. A whole group of men, perhaps - like those sailors over there. One after the other, fucking me until I screamed.”

“ _No_ ,” Ben whispers furiously, “that’s the last thing I want,” but his cock is throbbing wildly in Hux’s hand. 

“Are you sure?” Hux asks, sweetly, in his ear. “You’d be so hard, watching. Your poor cock would ache. But I wouldn’t let you come until they were all finished with me. Then I’d crawl to you and suck you just the way you like it. Make you come down my throat.”

Ben shudders. “Hux,” he breathes, “if you keep that up - I’m going to come in my pants - “

“That’s all right,” Hux purrs, “if you do I’ll just take you up to my room and lick you clean.”

That does it. “Fuck!” Ben croaks, as heat rushes through him and his body spasms under Hux’s touch. One of the sailors glances over at them curiously. Hux calmly withdraws his hand from Ben’s lap, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as if that had been what he was reaching under the table for. Ben squirms uncomfortably at the sticky wetness in his trousers. 

“Cigarette?” Hux offers. 

“No thanks,” Ben says weakly. He sags back against the back of the bench. “I can barely breathe as it is.”

“Mmm,” Hux says, lighting his own cigarette. He looks Ben over, a sharp little smile on his face. His green eyes gleam in the dim light. “I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying the evening so far.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“I do try.”

“Can we get out of here?” Ben asks. He leans closer to Hux’s ear. “I think you said something about licking me clean.”

“Oh, yes,” Hux says, standing up. “Of course. I always keep my word.”

Holding his bag in front of himself, Ben follows Hux down the hallway and up the narrow wooden back stairs, through the flickering light of gas lamps mounted on the walls. Hux is wearing tailored-looking white shorts that cling to his slender hips and his round little ass. It seems to take him ages to unlock his door. 

As soon as they’re inside the room, Hux is on his knees, unbuttoning Ben’s fly. “I do enjoy your habit of wearing nothing under your uniform,” Hux remarks, drawing Ben’s cock out and licking delicately at it, “even though it’s against regulation.”

“Oh no,” Ben says breathlessly, hissing as Hux runs his pink tongue up and down the shaft of Ben’s still-oversensitive cock, “anything but that. Doesn’t giving me a handjob in a crowded bar violate a few of the regs too?”

“Mmm, yes, quite a few,” Hux says, “which is why I’ll have to be sure to clean up the evidence of the crime.” He sucks Ben fully into his mouth. 

“Fucking hell,” Ben moans, “I can’t believe you got me hard again already - Hux, your mouth is fucking unreal - “

Hux hums happily in response, his golden eyelashes fluttering. Ben works his fingers through Hux’s stiffly-gelled hair, gasping for air. After a moment Hux lets Ben’s cock slide out of his mouth, kisses the tip, and stands up. “I want you to fuck me,” he announces. “Go sit on the bed. Keep your uniform on.”

“Yeah, you got it,” Ben says, grinning. He sits down on the bed, leaning against the stiff decorative pillows, spreading his legs and stroking his cock slowly as he watches Hux undress. “Actually - can you do something for me?”

Hux pauses with his shorts half-unbuttoned and tilts his head curiously at Ben. “What, exactly?”

Ben leans over to grab his bag. “I almost forgot, I got you something.”

“Oh,” Hux says, surprised. “That really wasn’t necessary. I haven’t got anything for you.”

“Uh, well, this is really more for me than for you, anyway,” Ben says sheepishly, handing Hux a small package. A week earlier, he had surreptitiously purchased it from a sex shop near the MACV headquarters while he was supposed to be waiting for his boss to emerge from a meeting. “Open it.”

Hux slides a finger into the wrapping and peels it back, pulling out a black leather collar with a steel ring attached to it. He laughs. “I see,” he says. “Should I put it on now?”

“If you don’t mind. Yeah.”

Hux smiles. “Or you could put it on me.” He tosses the collar back at Ben, slides off his shorts and briefs, and steps forward to kneel naked by the edge of the bed. He tilts his head back, exposing his slender bare throat. 

Ben’s mouth goes dry. “You’re so fucking hot,” he says, fumbling with the stiff buckle. He moves forward to sit on the edge of the bed, so that Hux is kneeling between his legs, and fastens the collar around Hux’s neck. He tugs experimentally on the steel ring at the front, pulling Hux’s face towards his cock. “Is that too tight?”

“It feels good,” Hux says. “I like it.” He deliberately maintains eye contact with Ben as his tongue flickers out to tease at the tip of Ben’s cock. Ben groans. He yanks a little harder at the steel ring, pressing the head of his cock against Hux’s lips, and Hux’s soft mouth opens for it. 

Still holding onto the collar, Ben reaches down with his other hand to pinch at Hux’s stiff little nipples, rolling them between his fingers. Hux gasps. His mouth goes slack, and Ben uses his grip on the collar to pull Hux’s head back and forth for a moment, gently fucking his face. Hux’s pliancy in his hands, the idea that Hux is letting Ben use him like this, sends a shock of heat through Ben. His balls tighten and his cock pulses in Hux’s mouth. 

“Still want me to fuck you?” Ben asks, his voice ragged. Hux hums affirmatively around Ben’s cock, bobbing his head. “Jesus, you’re going to make me come again if you keep that up.” He lets go of Hux and slides his cock out of Hux’s mouth, leaning back against the pillows, trying to get himself under control.

Hux looks up at him sweetly, still on his knees. His lips are wet and swollen. “How do you want me?”

Something occurs to Ben. “Actually - can you lie down across my lap? Face down?”

Hux looks amused. “Are you going to spank me? As a punishment for teasing you in the bar?” He stands up and drapes himself across Ben’s lap, resting his chin on his folded arms. His erection digs into Ben’s thigh through the thick cotton of Ben’s uniform. 

Ben swallows hard, palming Hux’s ass in one hand, squeezing it. “Fuck - yeah. Can I?”

“Do it,” Hux says, squirming under his touch. Ben swats lightly at Hux, not wanting to hurt him. “Harder. Make me feel it.”

“Yeah?” Ben says, his voice rough, lifting his hand and bringing his palm down more forcefully across Hux’s ass. “You want me to punish you?”

“Yes,” Hux hisses, grinding down against Ben’s thigh as Ben smacks him again and again, “for making you come all over yourself in front of everyone - for teasing you about other men - “

Ben laughs. “What, you feel bad about that all of a sudden?” He slaps Hux’s ass again, enjoying the resilience of Hux’s skin and the contrast between his pale nakedness and Ben’s dark-green uniform.

“Yes, keep going - don’t stop - “

“I don’t know,” Ben pants, “I don’t think you regret any of that - I think you get off on it. On making me jealous. You want me to go get those guys from the bar right now? Let them take turns with you?” Hux is writhing under the blows now, breathing hard, rubbing against Ben’s cock with every little movement. The friction is maddening. 

“No,” Hux whimpers, “I only want you.” Ben feels elated for a moment, before Hux peers back over his shoulder and asks - mockingly, it seems to Ben - “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Ben freezes with his hand in mid-air. “Fuck off, Hux,” he says, stung.

Hux looks over his shoulder again, startled. “What? What’s wrong?”

Ben flops back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “You know that’s what I wanted to hear. You don’t have to throw it in my face that it’s not true.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake - come here,” Hux says impatiently, moving to lie down next to Ben, his head on Ben’s shoulder. He puts his hand on Ben’s cheek and turns Ben’s face towards him, kissing him gently. His mouth tastes of liquor and smoke. “It was a straightforward question.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ben says unhappily. “You were making fun of me because you know how bad I want you to say something like that.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” Hux says indignantly. “You - I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. You seemed to be enjoying that little fantasy about me and those sailors from downstairs. I didn’t know if you wanted me to keep on with that line of talk or - or just go on about how I only want you because your cock is so amazing. Or some such nonsense. So I asked.” 

“Okay, fine,” Ben says reluctantly. “I guess I overreacted.”

“As per usual,” Hux says, rolling his eyes. He kisses Ben again, sliding his hand down over Ben’s stomach. “Now, where were we?”

“Apparently you were wondering whether to tell me all about how amazing my dick is,” Ben says, sucking in a breath as Hux’s hand slides lower to grip his cock, squeezing the shaft, getting him hard again. “The answer is yes. You should definitely talk about that.”

“Should I, now,” Hux says, still stroking him. He runs the tip of his tongue around the inside of Ben’s ear, and Ben moans. “It is rather impressive. Especially now that I’ve taught you how to use it properly.”

“Speaking of which,” Ben pants, “you still want me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, yes,” Hux says, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Ben’s cock. “How do you want me?” He turns away from Ben, getting up on his hands and knees, looking at Ben suggestively over his shoulder. “Like this?”

“Yeah - fuck, you look amazing,” Ben says admiringly. “Naked in a collar with handprints on your ass is a really great look for you, turns out.”

Hux laughs. “You know they make wrist and ankle cuffs that match this collar,” he remarks. “You could cuff me to the bedposts, spread-eagle... keep me that way as long as you like. Or bend me over and cuff my wrists and ankles together.”

Ben groans at the mental image. He grips Hux’s ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading it. “I can’t even handle you like this,” he says. “You’re going to fucking kill me. Spread your legs for me?”

“Of course,” Hux says, letting his head drop onto the mattress with a stifled gasp as Ben leans down to lick into him.

***

Afterwards, Ben peels off his soiled uniform and opens the French windows that lead onto their room’s little iron balcony. The street outside is dark and quiet now, except for a few passing motorbikes. The evening wind smells of sulfur and frangipani; it feels good on his sweaty skin. 

“I’m cold,” Hux says drowsily, from the bed. “Come back over here.”

Ben stretches out next to him, wrapping himself around Hux from behind. After all the time they had spent together in Hux’s narrow iron bedframe at Lai Khe, it feels remarkably luxurious to be in a bed that’s actually large enough for two grown men. He watches the breeze lift and fill the pale chiffon curtains, like the sails of a ship. Hux is breathing quietly against his chest. 

“Are you asleep?” Ben whispers. 

“Almost. Why?”

“I’m hungry,” Ben says. “Sorry. We went to about ten Thanksgiving dinners today but I was schlepping my boss’s crap around and helping him hand out coins and awards and bullshit like that, so I never really got to eat.”

Hux laughs. “All right,” he says, sitting up, “let’s go find something for you.” He reaches for his discarded clothes. “By the way, how is the new job? I’m relieved that you apparently haven’t managed to get into any fights over ‘stupid bullshit’ lately.”

“I want to,” Ben sighs, digging in his bag for a change of clothes, “believe me. I’m about a second away from punching someone at any given moment.” As he stands up he notices a stack of books on the little table by the window. He shuffles through them curiously. “Hux - are these yours? _Scientific Duck-Husbandry_ and _Nutrient-Enriched Rice Production_ \- you planning to buy a farm out here or something?” 

“It’s for our rural-development effort,” Hux says importantly, buttoning up his shorts. “Our State Department economist hasn’t got much practical farming experience, so I’m reading up on it.”

Ben laughs helplessly. “Seriously? You’re going to read a couple of textbooks and then go tell people who’ve probably been farmers for generations that they’re doing it all wrong?”

Hux glares at him. “The root of the conflict here is economic,” he says stiffly. “If we can help the people use scientific techniques to enhance food production, it will encourage them to turn away from Communism.”

“You’re hilarious,” Ben says. He flips through _Scientific Duck-Husbandry_. “I know you said it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to join your team, but can I please come out for just a day so I can watch you run around in your little shorts trying to get the ducks to take their vitamins or whatever?”

“Give me that,” Hux says, snatching it away from him. “Are you ever going to get dressed? I thought you were dying of starvation.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ben says, pulling his jeans out of his bag. He looks at the books and starts to laugh again. “Really, I’d pay to watch you out in the rice paddies. In your big hat, with zinc oxide on your nose. You should sell tickets - raise money for your project that way.”

“Do be quiet,” Hux says, flushing pink. “Go back to telling me about your new job. At least that’s a topic that you know something about.”

“Oh, trust me, I know I don’t know anything about farming or rural development,” Ben says, yanking a T-shirt over his head. “That’s the difference between me and you. I mean I milked a cow once on a school trip and it seemed to like it when I petted it, but I didn’t go tell the dairy farmer he needs to give his cows daily massages or whatever.”

“Very funny,” Hux says sourly, turning towards the door. “I’m going to find a noodle shop. You can either come with me or stay here making snide remarks, whichever you prefer.”

Ben grabs him in a tight hug from behind. “Don’t be mad,” he says, kissing Hux’s neck. “You know I love you, I just think you’re ridiculous.”

“You’re quite absurd yourself,” Hux says frostily, wriggling out of his arms and opening the door. 

“Anyway,” Ben resumes as they make their way down to the street, “I’m trying not to fuck up again, but if I make it another nine months in this job without beating the shit out of someone it’ll be a fucking miracle.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Do try to control yourself,” he says. “Your boss really isn’t a bad sort. You could do worse.”

“He’s not,” Ben allows. “But I had no idea generals got waited on hand and foot like this. You know I have to carry around a special bag with his hot sauce and snacks and the brand of bottled water he likes? And get his uniforms cleaned and bring him sliced fruit in the evening? It’s like I adopted a baby who’s fifty years old and has the legal authority to court-martial me.”

Hux laughs. “It is rather difficult to imagine you meekly bringing anyone sliced fruit on command. If I were going to make you do something like that I’d at least suck you off afterwards.”

“I know, right? It feels like it should be some kind of kinky sex thing, but not with this guy. He’s older than my father and looks like a giant thumb.”

Hux pats his arm. “Poor you,” he says. “But isn’t it still better than being out on patrol around Lai Khe?”

“Oh, yeah, no comparison,” Ben says. “I’ll bring this guy sliced fruit all night long if it keeps me out of the fucking jungle. Anyway he’s not that bad, like you said. Really, the one I want to punch is his fucking aide.”

Hux looks amused. “Oh, Captain Paxton? I’ve met him once or twice.”

“Fucking Paxton,” Ben says darkly. “I didn’t know why people hated West Pointers so much until I met this guy. You know, like Lieutenant Mitaka, he wasn’t that bad - he just seemed kind of scared and out of his depth all the time. But this guy, I want to kick the shit out of him every time he opens his mouth.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing really,” Ben admits. “He’s just a smarmy fucking asshole, that’s all. He made sure I knew he played football at West Point, so, you know, I told him I used to play too - I was just making conversation. Anyway I wound up telling him how I got kicked off the team and he made this little face at me and started telling me all about how being a quarterback is really more about leadership than about just throwing a football - like, implying that I couldn’t be a leader because I broke that kid’s nose. Fuck that guy.”

Hux laughs. “I wonder if you’d say the same sorts of things about me under other circumstances.”

“If I didn’t enjoy sucking your dick so much, you mean?” Ben grins. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely didn’t have much use for any officers before I met you - I thought you guys were all fascist assholes. I mean, I still kind of think that, but at least you’re a cute fascist asshole.”

“I’m the opposite of a fascist,” Hux says, looking annoyed. “I volunteered to come here and risk my life to defend democracy.”

“I know, I know. Although I notice you didn’t deny being an asshole,” Ben says, laughing. He glances around the quiet street and leans over to give Hux a quick squeeze. Hux shoves him off. “Just kidding. Anyway, I don’t really mean an actual ideological fascist, you know? Just someone who’s very into rules and regulations. Which is definitely you - I mean, you were literally giving me a hard time about how we’re supposed to wear underwear in uniform when you were blowing me earlier.”

“Oh yes, that’s certainly a sign of my rigidly authoritarian mentality,” Hux says sarcastically. “I ought to be more of a fascist, apparently - if I were better at following rules I wouldn’t be fraternizing with you.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Ben asks, nudging Hux. “Anyway, one thing about you, though, is that at least you’re not a brown-noser. I mean, you came all the way here just to tell all these old generals that they’re fucked up, basically. Paxton’s the opposite of you that way. Everything the general says, Paxton’s all like, ‘oh yes sir, roger sir, right away sir.’ And then half the time he makes me do it, whatever it is.”

“He _is_ his aide,” Hux observes. “And you’re supposed to be assisting him.”

“Oh yeah, side with him, why don’t you.” Ben scowls as they sit down on little plastic stools at a roadside noodle stand. Both of them are so tall that they’re nearly squatting; Hux’s bony knees stick up awkwardly on either side of the little table. “And speaking of fascists, the guy looks like a fucking Nazi propaganda poster. Blond, blue eyes, square jaw. The whole nine yards.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “Well, he can hardly help that,” he says. “Did you know he helped me get this job for you?”

“He did?” Ben asks, somewhat abashed. “No, I didn’t realize.” 

“Yes, I told him how you leapt in front of me to protect me from mines on patrol,” Hux says, as the woman from the noodle stand brings over two enormous bowls of “Special Pho” and two sweating cans of 33-brand beer. There are persistent rumors among the troops that the Vietcong brew this local brand with formaldehyde to poison Americans, but Ben has gotten to like its crisp taste. “That’s the sort of thing that impresses ‘smarmy West Point assholes’, as you put it.”

“Oh,” Ben says, unsuccessfully trying to grip a slippery clump of rice noodles with his chopsticks. He gives up on it and stabs a meatball with a single chopstick instead. “I mean, it’s not like I jumped on a grenade or anything. I just walked in front of you.”

“I took the liberty of dramatizing a bit.” Hux blows fiercely on his soup. “Your actual resume didn’t offer much for me to work with.”

“That reminds me - did you tell them I’m some kind of expert mechanic or something?”

“I may have.”

“Oh my god, Hux,” Ben groans. “I thought I was going to get fired on my second day because the general started telling me about something weird the engine was doing and he wanted to watch me fix it. He was like, ‘I always love to watch a master craftsman at work!’ I popped the hood and just kind of stood there poking at things and silently panicking until Rose told me to get out of the way and let her look at it.”

“Rose?”

“Yeah, she’s actually our translator - local girl. Apparently her dad owns a garage in Saigon and she grew up messing around with cars. Anyway, she saved me. The general just laughed and said, ‘That’s right, son, never argue with a woman!’ and went back inside.” 

Hux laughs. “Did she fix it?”

Ben shrugs. “I guess,” he says. “I don’t know shit about Army jeeps, but it runs and I haven’t heard anyone complaining about it since. Honestly Rose is the best thing about this job - she’s like my mom, she doesn’t take bullshit from anyone. She tells Paxton to sit down and shut up all the time.”

“I’m sure he appreciates that.”

“It’s good for him,” Ben says decisively. “I think she might be the first person who’s ever told him he’s full of shit. And she likes me, because unlike him I’m not an idiot and I don’t act like I know more about Vietnam than she does. Also I don’t hit on her. Apparently that’s why the last driver got fired.”

“I’m glad you’re making friends,” Hux says. He takes a sip of his beer. “Have you told her yet that you think defending her country is a waste of your time?”

“No. I got in trouble with Mrs. Nguyen for joking about being a Communist sympathizer when I was on the phone with you, so I’m trying to keep my mouth shut about politics.”

“Apparently Mrs. Nguyen has achieved a level of influence over you that I can only dream of having,” Hux remarks. He points his chopsticks at Ben accusingly. “Have you thought about the fact that if your army goes home, Rose and Mrs. Nguyen and Henri and everyone who’s helped us will likely be put into an internment camp? That is, if they aren’t simply put up against a wall and shot when the city falls.”

Ben sets down his spoon, somewhat taken aback. “Why are you asking me that? Are you still mad at me for teasing you about your farming books earlier?”

“No. I’m simply wondering if your views have evolved at all now that you’ve gotten to know some of the people we’re fighting for.”

Ben looks at his soup. “I’m sure Rose will be okay,” he says uncertainly. “She’s tough. And the general loves her - he won’t let anything happen to her. He always says she’s like the daughter he never had.”

“A lot of good that will do her when he goes back to the States to take his next command and she’s only a charming anecdote that he repeats in his speeches about Vietnam,” Hux says scornfully. “After all Henri’s actual, biological father is French, but that won’t do him any good either if the Communists take Saigon.”

“Why not? He can’t go to France with his dad?”

“His father buggered off home with the rest of the French in the fifties, and Henri doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. In any case he never bothered to register Henri with the French embassy,” Hux says, twisting his mouth disapprovingly, “so no, there’s no help there. Almost makes me feel I should be grateful to my own father.”

“Couldn’t you help him get out if he needed to?”

“How would I do that - by popping him into my rucksack and taking him back to London with me?”

“You know all those people at your embassy. Maybe they could do something.”

“I can’t get him a visa by marrying him,” Hux says drily, “and I doubt you’d be particularly happy if I did. They do issue special visas for diplomatic or strategic reasons, but I don’t suppose I can convince them that London is suffering from a strategic shortage of handsome bartenders.”

Ben shifts uncomfortably on his tiny plastic stool. “Would you want to take him back with you, though? If you could?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I thought we were talking about politics, not about my feelings.” He pronounces the word _feelings_ with particular contempt. 

“I was just wondering.”

“Of course you were,” Hux says. “I’d certainly want to help him leave if he needed to flee the country. But not for - personal reasons.”

Ben hesitates for a moment. “You know, I’d love to go to London sometime, myself. Half the records I like are from England.”

Hux pats his hand. “In that case,” he says, “try not to get yourself sent back down to the line units for punching Captain Paxton. If you can manage that then hopefully you’ll finish out your tour and get to visit London some day.”

Hux returns his attention to his soup. Ben watches the lights of passing cars flash over his pale face and slender hands, thinking, _Pop me in your rucksack. Take me home with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: actually not much this time! Hux gives Ben a semi-public handjob and Ben spanks him (not in public). Also, Ben continues to have issues with jealousy, and Hux has a few lines of dialogue about the terrible things that will happen if the Communists win the war. Fairly standard Porn and Bickering, basically. 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has been kind enough to leave comments and kudos! Love you guys.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags on this one! See detailed chapter endnotes for specific warnings.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me to Hue?” Ben asks, stroking Hux’s bare back. Hux is lying on his stomach; Ben traces the bony points of his shoulder blades with a fingertip. The slow-moving blades of the ceiling fan cast rotating shadows on his skin.

Hux twitches irritably. “You’re tickling me,” he complains, rolling onto his side to look at Ben. “And I wish I could, but I’ve got to stay here in Saigon. There’s a reception tomorrow at the British embassy for the Vietnamese New Year, and I can’t miss it.”

“I bet I could show you a better time than those old guys at the embassy.”

“I don’t doubt it, but that’s not the point,” Hux says. “They’ve just got a new defense attaché in and I hear he’s been making noises about sending me home. He knows who my father is, apparently, and he’s afraid he’ll be blamed if anything happens to me.” Hux snorts. “Clearly he doesn’t know my father very well, or he’d know that my father would vastly prefer a son who’d been killed in combat to the live one he’s got.”

“You’d better stay alive then, just to piss him off,” Ben says, wrapping his arm around Hux and kissing him lingeringly, slipping his tongue past Hux’s lips. Hux’s mouth still tastes of Ben’s come. 

“I certainly intend to,” Hux says, sliding his fingers into the short hair at the nape of Ben’s neck and scratching at his scalp. 

Ben hums happily, rubbing his head against Hux’s hand. “You know what else would probably make your dad really mad if he found out about it?” he asks.

“Everything I’ve done with you?”

“Well, yeah,” Ben says, “but also I was going to say - you could stay here at a nice safe job in Saigon. Then your embassy would be happy, I’d get to fuck you through the wall every time my boss has a meeting in the city, and your asshole dad would have a coronary if he knew. Win-win for everybody.”

“That’s a pleasant fantasy,” Hux says, “but no. This reception will be an excellent opportunity to convince the new attaché of the importance of the work I’ve been doing. I’ve brought the commander of my village defense force up here with me - he’s really an outstanding soldier. I’m sure he’ll make quite an impression on the embassy staff.”

“Oh, he’s going to be your date for the party, huh?” Ben asks, rolling over on top of Hux and biting into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Hux squeaks. “Let me guess - he’s a muscular guy with dark hair and a baby face. You have a type.”

Hux shoves Ben off him with a laugh. “I always enjoy your certainty that any man who spends more than five minutes with me must necessarily succumb to my charms,” he says. “Captain Pham’s got a lovely wife and four children back in the Delta - if he secretly prefers men he’s excellent at hiding it.”

“Didn’t you also think I was just an opportunistic straight guy when you met me?”

“I thought you were a soldier who wanted his cock sucked,” Hux says, “which is to say, I had no idea that you would turn out to be as mad as you are. But feel free to indulge in your little fantasies about my uninteresting professional relationship with Captain Pham. And enjoy your time in Hue. It’s a beautiful city, I hear - a perfect place to spend the holiday.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hear too,” Ben says gloomily. “Supposedly we’re going up there so that my boss can talk to the MACV guys about how the 1st ID can support the Marines at Khe Sanh - “ the Marines there, in the mountains northwest of Hue, had been besieged by the NVA for almost a week - “but I’m pretty sure he just wants to go to this New Year’s party. The local ARVN commander invited us all to come to his house for the second day of the holiday. And apparently he’s got a mansion and a million people are coming and he’s rolling out the red carpet for my boss.” 

“You sound remarkably oppressed by the very idea.”

Ben sighs. “Paxton’s all jazzed about it - he made me get his dress uniform cleaned and he keeps talking about how the girls in Hue are supposed to be the prettiest in Vietnam.” He scowls. “So I guess I’ll have to pretend to be excited about that.”

Hux pats his arm consolingly. “There’s lots of other interesting things to do in Hue,” he says. “Beautiful gardens, for one.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben grunts unhappily, “Paxton definitely won’t think it’s suspicious at all if I tell him I just want to visit gardens instead of picking up girls.”

“There’s also the old Imperial Citadel. I’d love to see it myself - it’s a genuine Vaubanian military fortress.”

Ben laughs. “That’s the kind of thing that’s only fun if you’re with me,” he says. He presses his face into Hux’s neck, inhaling the clean scent of him. “You sure you can’t blow off your party and come with me? I’ll even let you lecture me about whatever kind of fortress that is for as long as you want.”

“Tempting, but no,” Hux says, stroking his hair. “Besides, won’t your colleagues wonder what’s going on if I come along unexpectedly?”

“I’m going up by myself a couple days early to get everything squared away for my boss before it all shuts down for the holiday - they wouldn’t even have to know you’re there.”

“You’re not driving all the way alone, are you?” Hux sounds alarmed. “There’ve been quite a few attacks along Highway 1 - you shouldn’t be risking your life just so your boss can go to a party.”

“No, I’m flying to Danang and then picking up a car there. There’s supposed to be a supply convoy I can drive with from Danang to a Marine airbase near Hue - more stuff for those poor bastards at Khe Sanh, I guess.” Ben kisses the underside of Hux’s jaw. Hux’s slight stubble prickles against his lips. “You know, I don’t think I ever really thanked you for what you did for me. I mean, my job annoys the shit out of me, but if it wasn’t for you I’m sure I’d be stuck somewhere like Khe Sanh right now. Or worse.”

“No need to thank me,” Hux says, breathing in sharply as Ben pinches idly at his nipples, “my motives were entirely selfish.” Hux slides a hand down over Ben’s stomach and runs his fingertips lightly up the shaft of Ben’s cock. “Couldn’t let anything happen to _this_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ben sighs, as Hux begins stroking his cock more firmly, “you’re getting me hard _again_. How do you do this to me? You’re like a magician.”

“Shhh,” Hux says, leaning in to lick and bite at the shell of Ben’s ear in a way that reliably makes it impossible for him to think about anything other than Hux’s mouth. “I want you to fuck me... I love it when you fuck me after I suck you off, you always last so much longer.”

“Yeah,” Ben pants, “you got it. Actually, though - Hux?”

“Yes?”

“Could you - would you ever want to fuck me?” 

Hux’s hand pauses on Ben’s cock. He looks surprised. “Do you want me to?”

Ben shrugs. “You seem to love it. I’m curious how it would feel.”

“Right now?”

“I mean, whenever. No hurry.”

“Well,” Hux says, sliding down between Ben’s legs and kissing the tip of his cock, making him gasp, “we can see how you like my fingers, to start. Pass me the lube.”

Ben grabs it off the nightstand and hands it to him. Hux licks thoughtfully at Ben’s erection, dragging his tongue slowly up the length of his shaft, as he lubes up his index finger and reaches between Ben’s legs. Ben gulps as he feels the tip of Hux’s finger stroke him lightly, moving in little circles, before slipping inside him. It’s - interesting, a little strange, like the beginning of something. The feeling of being simultaneously teased by Hux’s finger inside him and Hux’s tongue on his cock makes him whimper and squirm on the bed. 

“Does that feel good?” Hux inquires, looking up at Ben innocently as he presses in deeper and crooks his finger.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s good,” Ben grunts, as Hux touches a spot inside him that sends sparks up his spine. “I’m starting to see why you scream like that when I fuck you.”

“I do not scream,” Hux says, severely. He rubs that spot inside Ben now more deliberately, moving his finger in little circles, and Ben throws his head back with a groan.

“Wanna bet?” Ben pants. His cock is so hard now it’s almost painful; Hux swipes the flat of his warm, wet tongue over the sensitive underside of the head, and Ben writhes. “God - I want to fuck you - but I don’t want you to stop doing that - “

Hux looks intrigued. “I have an idea,” he says. He withdraws his finger - Ben makes an unhappy sound - and reaches for his rucksack. From an inside pocket he withdraws a small drawstring bag. 

Ben watches curiously as he opens it, then laughs when the object inside turns out to be a realistic rubber penis. “Seriously, you just carry that around with you in your rucksack?” he says. “How did I not already know this about you?”

“I don’t always,” Hux says, flushing. “But I wasn’t keen to leave it at my camp in the Delta for one of my teammates to find.”

Ben is still laughing. “You mean you didn’t have it with you when you came out on patrol with us that one time?”

“ _No_ ,” Hux says. He waves the toy at Ben threateningly. “Do you want me to use this on you or not?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Ben says. “I was just going to say, that would explain why your rucksack was so gigantic when you came with us. You got a whole collection of those?”

“You know, the more time I spend with you,” Hux says, “the more I fantasize about tying you up and gagging you. And not entirely for sexual reasons.”

“Go for it,” Ben says, grinning. “You won’t, though. You like listening to me. You love it when I tell you how hot you are. How good it feels to fuck you.”

“You presume entirely too much,” Hux says, frowning. He looks around the room, then leans down to pick Ben’s pistol belt out of the pile of his discarded clothes on the floor. He threads it through the headboard of the bed and wraps it tightly around Ben’s wrists. “Now I just need to find something to gag you with.”

“Wait, I have more questions though,” Ben says. “You like fucking yourself with that thing? What do you think about when you’re using it?”

“I don’t have to think about anything,” Hux says, running a hand appreciatively over Ben’s chest, down over his stomach, bypassing his cock to tease at his balls. “Perhaps I just enjoy the opportunity to get fucked by a big cock without having to listen to nonsense.”

“Mine’s bigger than your little toy, though,” Ben points out, helpfully, gasping as Hux continues to fondle him. He squirms, wanting Hux’s fingers back inside him, Hux’s mouth on his cock. 

“Yes, it is,” Hux agrees, giving Ben’s erection a firm squeeze - Ben yelps - “which largely accounts for my willingness to tolerate your impertinence. But perhaps today I won’t.” He gets up and opens the closet, where his dress uniform is hanging. He takes his leather belt from the shelf and brings it back to the bed. “Open your mouth.”

“Okay,” Ben says, and Hux slides the belt between his teeth and fastens it behind his head. The taste of the smooth leather bursts against his tongue. He imagines Hux at his fancy party, slender and elegant in his tailored khaki uniform, wearing this belt that had been in Ben’s mouth. The idea sends a hot throb through him. 

“Perfect,” Hux says, looking him over approvingly. He runs his fingertips lightly over the head of Ben’s cock. “Now you’re just like my toy... I can do whatever I like to your beautiful cock without hearing any silliness from you.”

“Mmmph,” Ben responds, bucking his hips up against Hux’s hand. 

“Exactly,” Hux says. He picks the rubber cock up off the nightstand. “Back to this then. Shall I use it on you?” Ben nods enthusiastically. Hux scoops more lube onto his fingers and rubs it along the length of the toy. “Spread your legs and let’s see how you like it.”

Ben breathes in slowly through his nose, trying to relax, as he feels the blunt, slippery tip of the toy press into him. It’s smaller than his own cock but still significantly thicker than Hux’s finger; the stretch is almost too much. “All right there?” Hux asks, watching his face. Ben nods. Hux pushes the toy in deeper, and Ben gasps for air, biting down on the belt, as it jabs suddenly against that sensitive spot inside him. “Shall I keep going?”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Ben moans, meaning, _please, yes, more,_ and Hux begins rocking the toy back and forth, fucking him with it, every thrust sending waves of heat through him. His cock throbs, untouched; a drop of precome oozes from the tip and drips down the shaft.

“So you like it,” Hux says, watching him avidly, his green eyes bright. His own cock is standing up stiff and pink between his thighs. Ben nods frantically, his hips arching up off the bed. “Good. My turn, then.”

He lets go of the end of the toy, leaving it buried deep inside Ben - Ben clenches eagerly around it, testing out the feeling of it - and reaches for the lube again. Then he moves to straddle Ben, his back to Ben’s face. Ben stares admiringly at his round little ass, half-regretting the belt around his wrists that prevents him from reaching down to grab it, spread it open, sink his fingers into it. 

Hux leans forward, breathing hard, as he slides two lubed-up fingers inside himself. Ben makes a desperate noise in his throat as he watches. Then Hux is gripping Ben’s cock, lining it up to sink slowly down on it, and Ben bites down hard on the leather as he tries not to move.

“I’ve missed this,” Hux sighs, fully seated now, and Ben lets out a choked sound around the gag as Hux begins to rock up and down. Each movement jars the toy inside Ben; the doubled sensation is maddening. 

Hux begins to move faster, riding Ben’s cock hard as Ben pumps his hips up to meet him. Hux is crying out now on every thrust - not quite screaming, but letting out little high-pitched, helpless sounds that fill Ben with a fierce sense of pleasure and accomplishment. _I did that, I made him feel that good, he loves it, he loves it and he’s mine -_

The toy starts to slip out as Ben moves, and Hux reaches down to grab the end of it, pushing it back in, fucking Ben with it, as he bounces on Ben’s cock. Ben nearly screams himself as the sensation rockets along his nerves. Hux lets out another hot little sound as Ben thrusts up hard into him, and it all becomes too much - the sight of his cock sliding into Hux’s perfect little ass, the feeling of Hux fucking him with the toy, the noises Hux is making - and Ben arches his back and shudders as the heat of his orgasm rolls through him.

Hux slides off him and turns around. “So much for you lasting longer after I suck you off,” he remarks, retrieving the toy from between Ben’s legs - Ben groans at the slow drag as he withdraws it - and wrapping it in a tissue. He sets it on the nightstand and unfastens Ben’s gag. “Apparently that doesn’t work when you’re getting fucked at the same time.”

“Sorry,” Ben says, still breathing hard. He feels hot all over, blissed-out. “I couldn’t help it... that was fucking amazing. Let me suck your cock? Please?”

“Well,” Hux says, shuffling forward, his knees on either side of Ben’s chest, “since you asked so nicely.” 

“I love it when you come in my mouth, anyway,” Ben sighs, as Hux rubs the tip of his cock against Ben’s lips. Ben sticks his tongue out to lick it, enjoying how the salt of it mixes with the lingering taste of leather in his mouth. Hux unties Ben’s hands. Ben reaches for him eagerly, grabbing his ass with both hands and pulling him forward to suck him hard. He slides two fingers inside Hux and begins to work him as he sucks, and Hux goes back to letting out those little high, almost distressed-sounding cries that Ben loves so much. Ben closes his eyes and then there’s only the feeling of Hux stroking his hair, thrusting into his mouth, the hot slickness of him around Ben’s fingers, until Hux’s body goes rigid and he comes down Ben’s throat with a shout.

“Mmm,” Ben says sleepily, as Hux flops down next to him. “I can see why you love getting fucked so much. I felt like - like I was coming with my whole body, not just my dick.”

“I’m glad it was a successful experiment,” Hux says, picking up his belt and holding it up to the light, “although I see you’ve left tooth marks in my belt.”

Ben laughs. “You’re the one who stuck it in my mouth,” he says. “How’re you going to explain that one to all the fancy people at the embassy?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Hux says, settling down against Ben’s chest. “Perhaps I’ll tell them I had to use it to restrain a wild animal. It wouldn’t be far from the truth.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben asks, rolling over on top of Hux. “You like having me as your wild animal? Tied to your bed?”

“It has its advantages and disadvantages,” Hux says primly, shoving him onto his back.

Ben laughs again. “You know,” he says, “if someone had told me when we first met that in a few months you’d tie me up, gag me, and fuck me with a rubber dick, I’d’ve thought they were high. I probably would’ve knocked them out.”

“I, on the other hand,” Hux says, “wanted to gag you as soon as I heard you speak for the first time.”

Ben smacks Hux’s ass hard. “Glad I get to fulfill your fantasies, then. You’re welcome.”

“I will admit, you do surprise me,” Hux says, after a moment.

“Surprise you how?”

Hux shrugs. “Only that - that it’s so easy for you to ask for what you want. It took me so long to be able to do that. Years, really, even after I was already doing it.”

“You mean like asking you to fuck me?” Ben grins. “I mean, it’s easy now. It wouldn’t have been, before.” He thinks briefly of the directionless rage of his high-school years, of the fear and self-loathing that had filled him when he recognized himself only in other people’s jokes and whispers and warnings. “But I’m not going to spend my whole life worrying about what the guys on the football team would think about what gets my dick hard, you know?”

Hux laughs. “Indeed,” he says. “It’s - I like that about you.”

“I like a lot of things about you, too,” Ben says, elated by the unexpected compliment. He wraps his arms tightly around Hux. “I just wish we could do this all the time.”

“Well,” Hux says, “don’t count on it, but in a few months, if they find a suitable officer to replace me - I might come back here to work, as you suggested.” 

“Really?” Ben says, delighted. “That would be amazing.”

“Yes, well, I need to see this through first. But I’ve got quite a few recommendations that I want to present to CORDS headquarters, based on my field experiences,” Hux says, importantly. “Better training, for one. The two-week course they’ve got now won’t cut it - they need to send us to language training. And really they should be sending military advisors to our jungle warfare school in Malaysia - it’s much better than your American Special Forces training.”

Those sounded like recommendations that would be certain to aggravate any senior Americans who might hear them, Ben thought, but so much the better. “Great,” he says, “sounds like you’ll need to do a really long report on all that. Should keep you in Saigon for the rest of your tour.”

“We’ll see,” Hux says, tilting his head up to kiss Ben.

***

As he walks through Hue on the eve of the holiday, Ben finds it impossible not to be charmed by the city, even without Hux by his side. He leaves the MACV compound just before sunset and crosses the bridge over the Perfume River into the Citadel. Looking up at the looming walls of the old city, he wishes that Hux were there to pontificate at him about them. The river is crowded with small boats, piled with fruit and boxes of goods. Women’s high voices carry over the water as they call to their customers.

On the other side of the river, inside the old city walls, the streets are full of people, shopping and chatting. Street vendors are selling enormous bunches of golden flowers. Girls - some in miniskirts and smart little boxy jackets, some in the flowing pantsuits Ben now knows are called _ao dai_ \- meet Ben’s eyes and smile at him. One in particular, a girl in a white _ao dai_ with a long braid down her back, looks so much like his imaginary Saigon girlfriend that he feels almost as if he must have somehow conjured her up. 

Even the drive to Hue from Danang had been startlingly beautiful. Ben did not, as a general rule, find it exhilarating to drive in a slow-moving convoy of exhaust-belching, camouflage-painted supply trucks. But on the stretch of Highway 1 that had been carved into the side of the Central Highlands, Ben found himself looking up at sheer, spiky green mountains that jutted towards the sky to his left, while to his right a cliff dropped away vertiginously to the sparkling ocean hundreds of feet below. He felt as if he were floating between the sea and the sky. 

Now, as the light of the day fades, red paper lanterns glow in front of every house. The evening wind carries with it the sharp smell of smoke and fish sauce. 

Ben sits down at a roadside stand to have a beer and a banh mi. In spite of his uniform and the rifle slung over his shoulder, he feels oddly free, as if he were an ordinary tourist on vacation in a peaceful country. Halfway through his sandwich, he ducks at the crack of a distant explosion and reaches reflexively for his rifle - but it’s only fireworks. They burst over the river in showers of red and gold. 

***

Late that night, a different series of explosions startles Ben out of a sound sleep. He sits up in bed, his heart pounding. 

“You think we’re being attacked?” asks the kid in the next bunk. The dim light from the small window glints in his round, frightened eyes. 

“Maybe it’s fireworks,” Ben says hopefully. “It’s the Vietnamese New Year.” There’s a sound of men shouting outside, followed by the rhythmic _thud_ of distant gunshots. “Ah, fuck. That’s a machine gun.”

“One of ours, right? Maybe the fireworks spooked one of the guards.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Ben says, listening tensely. His stomach feels as if it’s twisting in on itself. The gunshots continue. 

“You think we should go do something?”

Ben shrugs. “Like what? Run around outside, going, ‘hey, is that bullet for me?’ I’m staying in here.”

“Okay,” his bunkmate says uncertainly. “I’ll get dressed just in case, I guess.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Ben agrees, reaching for his uniform. 

As he’s pulling on his boots, the door to their hootch bangs open. Ben curses and grabs for his rifle - but it’s only an unfamiliar older man in a rumpled Air Force uniform, half-buttoned, as if he too had just been rousted out of bed.

“The fuck are you guys hiding in here for?” demands the intruder, his face red. “We’re under attack! There’s no one in the guard tower over there - get the fuck out of here and go make sure they don’t get through the wall!”

“What the fuck,” Ben mutters, fumbling with the chinstrap of his helmet as he and the other soldier race towards the unoccupied guard tower. His bare feet slide uncomfortably inside his still-untied boots. “Who the fuck decided to skip out on his guard shift tonight? If I ever find out I’m going to go punch that guy in the fucking face.”

Inside the guard tower is an unmanned machine gun and a sputtering radio. Ben’s bunkmate picks up an ammo box and pries it open. “I guess we should load this,” he says, holding the belt of M-60 bullets uncertainly. 

“Hey, you’re putting it in upside down,” Ben says, reaching for it. “Want me to do that?”

“Yeah, sure.” He hands it over, looking relieved. “I’m a postal clerk, I’ve never even touched one of these before.”

“Don’t worry, I’m infantry,” Ben says, trying to sound more confident than he feels as they switch places. He had helped Finn clean and carry an M-60 for a few weeks, but he had never actually fired it. “I got it. You good on the radio?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Ben says, wrapping his hand around the M-60’s trigger well and thumbing the safety, moving the weapon up and down on its tripod as he peers through the iron sight, trying to get a feel for it. The oily metal is cool in his hands. It reminds him suddenly of holding the python at the snake show in Bangkok - how startling it had been to feel the muscles shifting under its cold skin, to know that under its cool exterior was something powerful and dangerous. He looks out anxiously at the dark, quiet street beyond the floodlights. 

The radio is still intermittently squawking. “Echo-One, this is Echo-Seven! We are red on ammo, over!” shouts a man’s panicked voice suddenly through the static. The gunshots and explosions that they can hear faintly from across the base sound loud and close in the background. 

Ben’s bunkmate winces, clutching nervously at his rifle. “What do you think’s going on over there? I thought there was supposed to be a ceasefire for the holiday.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Ben says unhappily. “Guess the VC didn’t get the memo.”

“I heard some of the guys saying the Chinese were going to invade soon. That they were going to do human-wave attacks over the border.”

Ben considers this. “Isn’t China still a long way off from here?”

“Yeah, but they’ve got guys in North Vietnam.”

“I don’t know, still kind of sounds like bullshit to me,” Ben says. “Anyway, Chinese, Vietnamese, I don’t really care - I just hope they stay on that side of the base and leave us alone over here.” 

At that moment, a man in dark clothes suddenly darts across the street, just beyond the edge of the floodlights. Ben squints at him, trying to see if he has a weapon. He yelps as his bunkmate suddenly fires off a burst from his rifle. “Fuck! What the fuck are you shooting at?”

“That guy!”

“Why? He didn’t do anything!”

“Why would he be out there if he’s not VC?”

“This is a fucking city!” Ben yells. “People live here!”

“Okay, okay,” his bunkmate says nervously. “Relax. I missed him, anyway.” The man has disappeared into one of the apartment buildings across the street. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ben mutters, trying to calm down and keep his hands steady on the gun. Suddenly there’s a crack of gunfire from an upstairs window in the apartment building closest to them. Both Ben and his bunkmate scream as bullets slam into the sandbagged roof of the guard tower. 

Ben swings the machine gun towards the muzzle flashes from the window and squeezes the trigger. Nothing happens. For a horrible second he wonders if the gun is a dud; then he remembers that the safety is still on. He switches it off and opens fire. “Fuck!” he yelps as the weapon bucks wildly in his hands. It seems impossible that he could have hit his target, but the gun in the upstairs window goes silent. Ben holds his breath, his ears ringing from the noise. The air smells of cordite. 

“I told you that guy was VC,” his bunkmate says in a small voice, after a moment.

“That wasn’t him,” Ben says disgustedly. “He’d have to be like the fucking Flash to get up there that fast. You probably just woke up whoever was watching us.” There’s another rapid series of gunshots, from a different window this time. “Holy shit!” Ben shouts, trying to return fire, spraying bullets wildly in the general direction of the shooter. “Ow - fuck!” Something hot zips past his cheek. When he touches his face, his fingers come away wet. 

As he stares dumbly at the blood on his fingers - it looks black in the dim light - a tremendous blow knocks him backwards, as if a giant had punched him with an enormous fist. When he opens his eyes - blearily, uncertain of how much time has passed - he finds himself looking up at the ceiling of the guard tower. His bunkmate is manning the machine gun, firing furiously and continuously. The noise level is incredible, but everything seems strangely far away, like an old movie that has nothing in particular to do with Ben. His head throbs. 

Still feeling oddly calm, Ben reaches up to feel his head. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but his helmet is missing. After some moments, he finds it behind him. He picks it up and looks at it. “Holy shit,” he says softly, staring at the dent in the front. “I think they just shot me in the head.” He struggles to sit up.

“Fucking hell!” shouts his bunkmate. “I thought you were dead!”

“Oh. Did you call for a medic?” Ben is still staring at his damaged helmet in fascination. _This will make a great souvenir,_ he thinks. _I hope they let me keep it._

“Get on the radio and call for more ammo!” his bunkmate shouts over the noise of the machine gun. “Every time I stop shooting they shoot back at us again! We’re on our last box!”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Ben says, reaching for the radio handset and presses the button on its side. Only then does it occur to him that he doesn’t know what to say. “This is, uh,” he says into the handset. 

“Echo-13!” his bunkmate shouts. Ben looks up. There is, in fact, a sign on the wall that says E-13 in large black letters. He holds the handset mutely out towards the other soldier. “Echo-13 is red on ammo! We’re getting fucking killed out here, my buddy’s hurt, we need help! Over!”

There’s no response. Then Ben realizes he’s still holding down the button on the handset. He releases it. 

“Echo-13, roger that,” says a voice from the radio. “And keep the net clear, over.”

Ben looks out at the building across the street. Their fire has shattered most of the windows and punched dozens of holes in the white stucco facade. 

The machine gun suddenly goes silent. His bunkmate reaches frantically for his rifle. “Call for ammo again!” he yells.

Ben keys the handset. “Echo-13 is black on ammo, over,” he says placidly. He feels proud of himself for doing it correctly. As he starts to set the handset down, there’s a soft _pop_ from across the street, and he feels another enormous blow, as if the creature that had knocked him flat before had come back for another round. 

The world is very dark and silent. After possibly a long time, Ben tries to open his eyes. As he does, the pain hits him, like a red sun searing into the left side of his face. 

He screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sex: Hux ties Ben up, gags him, and fucks him with a toy while he rides him.
> 
> \- Graphic violence: if you don’t want to read this part, stop after the sex scene. Ben is involved in a firefight and is wounded - no graphic descriptions of his injuries, but there’s a reference to blood and to him screaming in pain. Also, another soldier fires a rifle at a civilian and misses, and Ben and that soldier fire a machine gun at an apartment building after someone in the building shoots at them. No descriptions of civilian casualties but the implications are potentially disturbing. 
> 
> Acknowledgements: this fictionalized description of the early hours of the Battle of Hue is partly based on Mark Bowden’s excellent book “Hue 1968.” Unfortunately one of the old guys at work saw it on my desk months ago and asked to borrow it and then he never gave it back, so if there are any jarring historical inaccuracies, blame that guy.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has left kudos and comments on previous chapters! You guys are the best.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags on this one! See endnotes for detailed content warnings.

“Benny?”

“Yeah?” Ben says, squinting at the door. He had been half-asleep, trying to ward off the headache he can feel coming on. 

His favorite of the nurses - a sweet round-faced woman with curly red hair - is peering in at him. “Do you know a Lieutenant Hux?” she asks. “He’s upstairs and he seems to be asking for you.”

Ben sits bolt upright. “Yes! He’s here? Is he okay? Which room?”

“Yes - slow down!” She laughs as Ben darts past her. “He’s not going anywhere, don’t hurt yourself. I’ll take you to him.”

“What happened to him?” Ben asks, hurrying ahead of her towards the stairs.

She scrambles to catch up with him. “He’s been shot,” she says, squeezing his arm gently. “He’s in stable condition - but - “

“Oh, fuck - shot where?” Ben asks, frantically. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his aching head. 

“In the chest and thigh - he’s at the end of the hall there, past the curtains - “

Ben takes the last few steps at a sprint, bursting in through the privacy curtains. “Hux!” he says, looking in horror at a motionless figure on the bed whose face is covered in bandages. But the nurse had said - 

“Benjamin?” says a familiar voice behind him. “Is that you?”

Ben spins around, his heart beating furiously, and pokes his head through the other set of curtains to see Hux looking up at him. He’s so relieved he feels almost dizzy. Hux is propped up in bed, one leg held up stiffly by a complicated pulley arrangement. An IV is attached to his arm, and some other sort of tube is protruding rather horribly from his chest - but he’s awake, he’s here, he’s looking at Ben. “Hux,” Ben chokes out, stumbling towards the bed and reaching for his hand, “I saw the news about Saigon - I’ve been trying to reach you - I called Henri - I didn’t know - “

Hux’s fingers are cold when Ben squeezes them. “Benjamin,” he whispers. “What did they do to you?”

Ben had been so relieved to see Hux that he had forgotten, for the moment, to wonder what Hux would think of his own face. He touches the bandage over his eye. “Holy shit, Hux, it was crazy,” he says. “So I got to Hue, right, and it was beautiful, like you said, and then I woke up that night and there were explosions and - “

“Don’t tell him anything that will agitate him,” a different nurse says sternly, sticking her head in. She eyes their joined hands suspiciously, and Ben lets go hastily. “He needs to rest.”

“I’m not agitated,” Hux says crossly. His voice is hoarse, but the irritated tone makes him sound more like his normal self. “I want to know what happened to you.”

Ben looks uneasily from Hux to the nurse. “I’ll tell you later,” he says. He doesn’t quite know what to say yet, anyway - what to do with the hollow sense of loss that has been with him ever since the doctor told him matter-of-factly that he would never regain the sight in his left eye. And then there’s his hearing - to his great relief, his deafness after the initial explosion had faded, but something is still wrong: something about the timbre of the world has changed, becoming bland and insipid. Ben had discovered the day before that the USO club on the hospital’s grounds had a stereo system and some of his favorite records - but it had been unbearable to listen to them; it was too obvious that something was missing. 

In any case, Ben reminds himself, Hux doesn’t need to be burdened with Ben’s problems at the moment. “I’m fine basically - I’m out of Vietnam and I’m never going back there, so I can’t complain too much. I just get these headaches, that’s the worst thing. And my face looks like fucking Frankenstein.”

“You’re beautiful,” Hux says firmly. His face is very pale, his jawline scruffy with several days’ growth of beard, but his green eyes are clear as he looks at Ben. “You’ll always be beautiful.”

Ben feels tears welling behind his eyes. The throbbing in his head increases. Then he glances over his shoulder and realizes that the nurse is still standing there. Her suspicious expression has hardened into active hostility. “Hey, buddy,” he says, trying to sound lighthearted, “they must really have you on some good stuff, huh?”

“What - oh.” Hux catches sight of the nurse behind Ben, and sighs. “Yes, I suppose they do. Everything seems very far away. Where are we, exactly?”

“In Yokohama,” Ben says. “Japan. It looks nice from what I’ve seen - little houses and rice paddies. Kind of like Thailand, but cold.” He hears the nurse’s shoes clicking away and quickly takes Hux’s hand again, squeezing it in both of his own. “Hux - if you can talk about it - what happened to you? I’ve been so scared ever since Henri told me that you hadn’t been back to the hotel.”

Hux coughs. “A sniper,” he says. “Captain Pham saved my life. We were coming back from the reception at the embassy, late at night - I never even saw the shooter. I remember I thought a car had hit me. Captain Pham fired back at them - got me under cover - patched me up - and then he stopped a car at gunpoint and made them take me to the hospital.” Hux looks at Ben pointedly. “You laugh at my little village defense force, but that’s the caliber of man who’s going to win this war.”

“I hope so,” Ben says sincerely, suppressing the impulse to feel jealous of Captain Pham’s gallantry. “I really do, Hux.”

Hux frowns. “You’re making me nervous,” he says. “I must truly be at death’s door if you’re humoring me instead of arguing with me.”

Ben laughs. “I’m just happy that you’re feeling well enough to lecture me about military strategy.” He wonders whether Hux has seen the news lately - _hopefully not_ , Ben thinks, _if he isn’t supposed to be agitated._ “And I know I was giving you shit about him, but I’m so glad Captain Pham was there with you.”

“He sealed the wound in my chest with the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes and used my belt as a tourniquet on my leg,” Hux says proudly. “Straight out of the battlefield-aid training we did during our drills in the village. I tell you, these village defense forces are a winning strategy.”

Ben strokes his hand. “I’m sure they are.”

“No, you aren’t,” Hux says, rolling his eyes, “but never mind.” He shivers suddenly. “It’s so cold here - I wish you could get in with me. You’re always so warm.”

“I want to,” Ben says, longingly. In his hours of pain and fear he’s been consoling himself by imagining his head in Hux’s lap, Hux’s slender fingers stroking his hair and massaging his aching head. He eyes the contraption holding Hux’s leg in traction. “I don’t think I can, though - not without hurting you. I’ll go find you another blanket.” 

There are none in the cabinet when he ruffles through it, so he steps out into the hallway. The stern nurse eyes him. “Ma’am,” he says hesitantly, “my friend is cold. Can I get another blanket for him?”

“He has a fever,” she says. “We need to keep bringing his temperature down.”

“Why does he have a fever?” Ben demands, alarmed. A grim story suddenly flashes into his mind - his father at the kitchen table, several beers in, rambling about an old army buddy who had gotten “blood poisoning” from a minor injury and eventually lost his leg. “They took it off a little at a time,” his father said, “like slicing salami.” That wouldn’t happen to Hux, surely - not to Hux, with his long beautiful legs in his tiny ridiculous shorts. Ben feels nauseous at the thought. His headache is slowly becoming unbearable, greying out his field of vision. “Are his wounds infected?”

“No, but I can’t give you any details about his medical condition.” She picks up a stack of files and begins sorting through them. Ben goes back to Hux’s bedside, feeling helpless and frustrated.

“She won’t give me another blanket for you,” he says unhappily, “or tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I heard,” Hux says calmly. “Don’t be upset. I’ll be all right - I’m recovering from malaria, that’s all.” 

“That’s all?” Ben says, horrified. “You’ve been shot and you have malaria and you’re telling me not to be upset?”

“It’s a hazard of the tropics,” Hux says, shrugging. “I had a bad bout of it last summer, before you got to Vietnam, and they say it stays in your body. They’ve got me on some sort of new miracle drug now - I’ve been quite ill the past few days, but I’m already feeling much better.” 

“Well, that’s good,” Ben says. He feels a sudden, hysterical giggle rising in the back of his throat. “I just hope this miracle drug isn’t the one that makes you hallucinate and sleepwalk naked into the mess hall. That’s all we need now, on top of everything else.”

Hux laughs. “It would really be a miracle drug if it makes it possible for me to get out of bed and walk anywhere,” he says, “so let’s hope it is.” 

Ben flops down to sit on the floor next to the bed, pressing the uninjured side of his aching face against the cool cotton sheets. “It just seems wrong they won’t give you more blankets,” he mutters. “When I was sick as a kid my mom always bundled me up in a million blankets and fed me hot soup.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about it,” Hux says, sliding his hand into Ben’s hair. Ben sighs happily. “Just sit with me for a bit. If you can. You look rather on the verge of collapse yourself.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Ben says. Hux’s fingers are gently kneading at his scalp, soothing the thudding pain behind his eyes, and he feels somehow untroubled and at peace for the first time since the firefight in Hue. “I was so afraid I’d never see you again. I feel like I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

“No need to worry,” Hux says wryly, gesturing towards his injured leg, “I won’t be capable of going anywhere without considerable assistance for quite some time.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll help you get around once you’re feeling better.” Hux goes on stroking his hair, and the feeling of it is like cool liquid flowing through every strained nerve. “I love you so much, Hux. That feels so good.”

“Shhh,” Hux says. “But I’m glad your injuries haven’t prevented you from continuing to be very ridiculous.”

***

“Ah, it’s you,” Hux says, looking up and smiling when Ben peers in through the curtains around Hux’s bed a few days later. “I thought I recognized your characteristic stomping in the corridor.” He gestures to a metal folding chair that’s leaning against the wall. “Have a seat! I’ve been in such a fog lately, it only just occurred to me that you never actually told me what happened to you in Hue. I want to hear all about it.”

“I don’t want that nurse to come yell at me again,” Ben says. He’s been sitting or napping by Hux’s bed as often as he can, but the nurse who had walked in on them holding hands has been chasing him out whenever she felt that he was preventing Hux from resting. He’s also not sure if he’s ready for Hux to realize the extent of his injuries just yet. After all, with some luck, Hux ought to be able to recover and go on with his life as before, but Ben - “She said I wasn’t supposed to agitate you.”

“She’s not on shift today. And I think they’ve lowered my dosage of painkillers - I’m feeling much more awake and prepared to be agitated.” Hux looks at Ben fondly. “Which is fortunate, because agitating me is normally one of your primary activities. Did you say you were wounded your first night in Hue?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the same night I was shot,” Hux says thoughtfully. “Isn’t it a strange coincidence that we’ve spent these months in Vietnam without a scratch and then we should both be wounded the same night? And in cities that are normally safe, too.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Ben says. In fact the hospital is full of soldiers who had been wounded in what the news is now calling the Tet Offensive, but clearly Hux hasn’t heard about it yet, and Ben has no intention of telling him. Hux looks alert and rested, and touchingly happy to see Ben; Ben doesn’t want to inadvertently cause some sort of relapse. He grins at Hux. “Maybe it’s because we’re soulmates. Like, a mystical link.”

Hux laughs. “I hope not,” he says. “Most of the choices you make are exceedingly ill-advised. I would hate to spend the rest of my life being mysteriously injured every time you decide to start a fight you can’t win.”

“I didn’t start this one,” Ben protests, unfolding the metal chair and sitting down in it backwards. He’s pleased to see Hux’s eyes drop briefly to his groin as he spreads his legs around the back of the chair. “If it was up to me I would’ve just stayed in my bunk.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“There was no one in the guard tower next to our hootch - I couldn’t just go back to sleep and wait for someone to come slit my throat,” Ben says. “So we got up there and then my idiot buddy decided to take a shot at some random Vietnamese guy who was crossing the street. He missed, but then everything went nuts.” 

“What happened?”

“I guess there were a bunch of VC in the apartment building across the street, and they must’ve thought we’d seen them and we were shooting at them. So they started shooting back. It was crazy - I was on the machine gun shooting at the muzzle flashes until I got shot in the head.”

“You were shot in the _head_?”

“It bounced off my helmet,” Ben says. “It knocked me out, though, and I think maybe it kind of messed me up in general. Well, that and the explosion.”

Hux looks alarmed. “The explosion?”

“Yeah. After we ran out of ammo, they popped up and fired something at us - an RPG, I think it must have been.” Ben sighs. “I was calling for more ammo, and luckily I still happened to be squeezing the handset when I got hit. I couldn’t see, and everything hurt - basically I just screamed into the handset until some guys came and got us.”

Hux winces. “Well,” he says, “I’m happy that your radio training came in handy.”

Ben laughs. “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t exactly what you tried to teach me to do,” he says. “I think they mostly came to get us because they couldn’t talk to each other. Because I wouldn’t stop yelling into the radio and clogging up the net.”

Hux reaches out to touch Ben’s knee, looking rather shaken. “I suppose for once I should be grateful for your tendency to be loud and persistently irritating.”

Ben grins at him. “I was lucky, really,” he says, trying to be reassuring. “I got sprayed with shrapnel, and the blast knocked me out for a minute. But my buddy was on the machine gun, and they were aiming at that, I guess. He took most of it.”

“Do you know what became of him?”

Ben sighs. “Not really,” he says. “Last I saw of him, they were putting tourniquets on what was left of his legs, but he didn’t look good. I was pumped full of morphine by that point, so I was just kind of watching this, all cool, like, ‘oh, that’s interesting, his legs aren’t there anymore.’ Like I was awake and I could see everything that was going on, but I just didn’t really care. Once they got me here and I woke up from surgery and I wasn’t so drugged-out, I wanted to find out if he made it, but I don’t even know his name. It all happened so fast.”

Hux takes Ben’s hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Ben says. “It’s fucked up.” They sit in silence for a moment. “Hux?”

“Yes?”

Ben swallows hard. “I don’t want to bug you with my problems - “ 

“Why not?” Hux asks, raising an eyebrow. “Aside from my interest in sucking your cock, that’s been nearly the entire basis of our relationship to date.”

Ben smiles, momentarily distracted. _Our relationship,_ he thinks, _that’s the first time he’s called it that._ “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure whether to tell you this, but - “ he takes a deep breath - “Hux, they said I’m never going to see again out of my left eye. And my face is probably going to be all scarred up when they take these bandages off.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, of course,” Hux says calmly. “I rather assumed as much when I saw you.”

“I guess I just wanted to ask - do you care?” Ben eyes Hux’s face anxiously. 

“Of course I care, I’m not a monster,” Hux says indignantly. “Even if we weren’t - I would care about any soldier’s injuries.”

“Not like that,” Ben says. “I mean, does it bother you? Me looking like this?”

“Oh, were you worried that I wouldn’t find you attractive anymore?” Hux looks amused. “Don’t be silly. Unfortunately for me, my - my involuntary physiological reaction to you hasn’t changed. I doubt I’ll ever be free of it.”

Ben laughs, feeling as if Hux had just wrapped him in a warm blanket on a cold day. “Hux, you’re seriously the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he says. “But I’ll take it.”

“In fact,” Hux says, looking sidelong at Ben, “I imagine that with an eyepatch and a scar on your face, you’ll look like a rather dangerous character. I have an embarrassing history of being especially susceptible to men like that.”

“Really?” Ben says, leaning closer. “Are you saying you’re actually into it?”

“I could be,” Hux says suggestively, then quickly adds, “although, of course, I’m still very sorry this happened to you.”

“No, it’s cool,” Ben says happily. “That’s a huge relief, honestly.” He lowers his voice. “Maybe when I get my regular eyepatch we can role-play that I’m a pirate.”

Hux laughs. “And who would I be, in this scenario?”

“Um.... maybe you’re a Navy captain who’s hunting me down. But I capture you and take you prisoner instead.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Sorry,” he says, “but even in your sexual fantasies I refuse to be a naval officer. Some things are beyond the pale.”

Ben laughs. “Why, what’s wrong with the Navy? You’d look hot in those white uniforms they wear.”

“If you have to ask,” Hux says darkly, “then I couldn’t possibly explain it to you. But I’m willing to be a merchant seaman. You can take me prisoner in that capacity.”

“You got it,” Ben says. “It’s a date.”

“Although if my leg doesn’t heal properly, I suppose we’ll both be pirates,” Hux says, looking gloomy again. “You with your eyepatch, and me hopping about on a wooden leg.”

Ben pats his hand. “It’ll heal. For sure. But you’re welcome on my pirate ship any day.” He looks up at Hux’s suspended leg. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“No - not unless I try to change position, then it’s agony. Mostly I’m just dying for a cigarette.” Hux rubs ruefully at his scruffy beard. “I suppose it makes sense that having a hole blasted through your lung means you’ve got to lay off smoking while it heals, but it’s killing me. That, and this beard - it itches like mad.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Ben says. “That, at least, I can help you with.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh yeah, I would hate to have you interrupt my busy schedule of sleeping and taking meds and staring at the TV in the dayroom,” Ben says. “I don’t even have my guitar here with me - it’s still in my room at Di An. I’ll go get my shaving kit.”

When Ben comes back with his kit and a basin of hot water, Hux reaches for it, then winces as the motion tugs at his wound. “Hux, just relax,” Ben says. “Let me do this for you.”

“If you insist,” Hux says, shutting his eyes, as if it’s painful to watch himself being cared for. Ben wonders how much of the past few days he remembers. Ben has been helping some of the nurses with lifting Hux whenever he needed to be repositioned or bathed, but Hux was heavily sedated for most of it. In his drugged sleep, he clung to Ben like a child frightened by a nightmare.

Now Ben clips Hux’s beard as short as possible with a pair of scissors from the nurses’ station, then wets Hux’s face with a towel and smooths shaving cream onto his skin. He rinses his hands in the water and picks up the razor. As he draws the blade along Hux’s jawline, Hux lets out a little sound of pleasure and relief. 

“See, isn’t that better?” Ben says, trying to ignore the sudden twinge of heat he feels at hearing that noise from Hux. 

“Mmm,” Hux sighs, which doesn’t help. Ben concentrates on keeping his hands steady as he slides the razor blade over Hux’s skin. As he touches Hux’s face with his left hand to adjust the angle, his thumb bumps against Hux’s lips. Hux’s tongue darts out to lick at it. 

“Don’t get me hard,” Ben whispers. But he doesn’t pull his hand away. 

“Why not?” Hux asks, looking slyly at Ben from under his golden eyelashes. He nips at Ben’s thumb. Ben drops the razor onto the sheet.

“Because I can’t focus when you’re doing that,” Ben hisses as Hux sucks Ben’s thumb fully into his mouth. The wet heat of it flares hotly along Ben’s nerves. “ _Hux_.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You’re - you’re getting me all worked up and you won’t be able to do anything about it - “

“Exactly,” Hux says, letting Ben’s thumb slide out of his mouth, “that only makes this all the more entertaining for me.” He turns his head to lick at the thin skin between Ben’s fingers. Ben whimpers. “Should I stop?”

“Yes - _fuck_ \- “ Hux stops. Ben groans unhappily, reaching down to readjust himself. 

Hux is eyeing him. “If only I could be sure no one would walk in...”

“Yeah?” Ben says. “Then what?”

“I’d order you to touch yourself,” Hux whispers, “get that lovely cock out, make yourself come. All over my face.”

Ben presses his fist into his uninjured eye. His cock throbs between his legs. “You’re fucking killing me.”

“All right, I’ll stop,” Hux says sweetly. “Now finish shaving me.”

Ben shakes his head. “If I mess this up, it’s on you.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Hux says serenely, tilting his head invitingly at Ben. 

Ben takes a deep breath and picks up the razor, trying to calm down, as he shaves the last remaining stubble from Hux’s cheek and under his jaw. Hux’s freshly-shaved skin is very soft under his fingers. 

“I do love seeing you get hard for me,” Hux whispers, staring at the bulge in Ben’s shorts as he rinses off his hands in the basin and wipes Hux’s face clean with the towel. “It’s such a shame you can’t just slide that big cock into my mouth right now.”

“You just enjoy torturing me,” Ben whispers back. He stands up so that his groin is level with Hux’s face, glances behind him to make sure that no one is there, and squeezes his aching cock slowly through his shorts. 

Hux smiles. “It is rather fun to watch you squirm,” he agrees, watching Ben avidly. “But since you’re in such a helpful mood today, I have an idea.”

“What’s that?” Ben asks, breathing in harshly as he strokes himself. 

“Go into the toilets across the hall. Make yourself come. Then come back here - I want to lick it off your fingers.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Ben says, but he’s so hard that he can feel his heartbeat pounding in his cock. It feels good, as if his body is waking up and remembering that it’s alive. 

“You like it,” Hux says, smiling at him. Between the clean shave and the sharp smile, Hux looks reassuringly like himself again.

“I do,” Ben admits. He picks up the basin of water and ducks out through the privacy curtains holding it in front of himself. 

“Want me to take that for you?” asks a friendly-looking medic in the hallway, passing by. 

“I got it,” Ben says, flushing bright red, as he stumbles into the bathroom. As soon as the door locks behind him, he drops the basin on the sink and leans back against the wall, licking his palm and sliding his hand into his shorts. Hux’s words - _I want to lick it off your fingers_ \- pulse hotly through him; he’s already close. He wonders if there might be a way for him to suck Hux’s cock while he’s restrained in bed. _This is so fucked-up_ , he thinks deliriously as he comes into his fist. 

He darts back across the hallway to the bed where Hux is waiting for him. “I, uh,” he says, holding out his sticky right hand, red-faced, “if you still want to.”

“Good boy,” Hux says, his green eyes heavy-lidded. “Come here.” 

“I love you, I really do,” Ben whispers as Hux’s tongue slides over his fingers. Hux doesn’t respond, but his face is blissful. 

***

“If you’re still in the mood to be useful,” Hux announces the next day, “there is one other thing you could do for me.”

“Sure, anything,” Ben says. “What do you need?”

“Could you go and fetch me a newspaper? All the newspapers you can find, actually. I have no idea what’s been going on in the world and it’s driving me mad.”

Ben hesitates. “Are you sure? There’s been a lot of craziness lately. Maybe you should just rest instead of stressing yourself out.”

Hux’s nose twitches in annoyance. “Benjamin,” he says firmly, “I’m not a Victorian lady who will have to retire to her fainting couch if she reads something shocking in the paper. I want to see the news.”

“All right,” Ben says uneasily, “I’ll go see what I can find.” In the dayroom, a days-old copy of the _New York Times_ is lying on a chair. The front-page headlines are about George Wallace, the Republican primary elections, and some sort of new aircraft from Boeing - nothing about Vietnam. _Perfect_ , Ben thinks, bringing it back to Hux.

Hux, unfortunately, scans rapidly through the international news section and stops short at “Fierce Fighting Continues in Hue,” on page A5. _Damn it_ , Ben thinks, looking over Hux’s shoulder to see a photograph of a wounded Marine being bandaged in the shadow of what appear to be the now bullet-pocked walls of the Citadel. Below the photograph, Ben’s eyes flicker over the now-familiar litany of everything that he’s been trying to protect Hux from hearing about: _house-to-house fighting in Hue... heavy casualties... mopping-up operations expected to continue in the vicinity of Saigon... a new phase opens in the siege of Khe Sanh..._

Hux’s face goes white, then flushes pink as he reads. Ben eyes him anxiously. Even for Ben, whose mother has been telling him for years that the war is immoral and unwinnable, it had been shocking to see the news on the TV in the dayroom - the map of South Vietnam lighting up with surprise attacks from one end of the country to the other; the Communist flag flying over the Citadel; the Vietcong suddenly erupting out of the jungle into the cities where Ben had almost felt safe. 

Hux sets down the paper, looking grim. “I knew this was going to happen.”

Ben laughs; that had not been the reaction he was expecting. “Are you serious?” he says. “Why didn’t you say something a few weeks ago, then? It sure as shit took everyone else by surprise.”

“Well, of course I didn’t know the precise operational details of the enemy offensive,” Hux says irritably, “but something like this was predictable - although perhaps not on this scale. And I _did_ say something. It was all in my paper for General Westmoreland.”

“Oh right, your paper,” Ben says, amused. “Too bad you didn’t give it to those poor guards at the embassy in Saigon, then - I bet they could’ve used the heads-up.” The footage of bodies lying in the flowerbeds at the U.S. embassy had been one of the first scenes Ben saw on television once he was able to get out of bed; it was one of the reasons he had panicked when he couldn’t reach Hux at the hotel. 

“No doubt they could have,” Hux says darkly, glaring at Ben. “Unfortunately your senior leaders were too blinded by their own stupidity to see what was under their very noses.”

“Oh, yeah? What was that?”

Hux points an accusing finger at Ben. “Do you know what’s been happening lately in the villages around Saigon?”

“A shitload of Vietcong have been moving in, apparently.”

“Well, yes,” Hux says, “but what I was going to say was that, until recently, III Corps soldiers were primarily doing village-security missions there. They weren’t quite living in the villages, but they patrolled the same small areas for a period of months, and each American unit was paired up with a South Vietnamese unit. So the local people got to trust them, and would tell them when Communist agents came around.”

“Okay,” Ben says. “What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that the kind of stuff you’ve been saying we should all be doing?”

“Yes, it is, and it was one of the case studies I highlighted in my paper,” Hux says. “But in November, Westmoreland declared that the area around Saigon had been pacified, and he reassigned most of the American units that had been protecting the villages to the Cambodian border.”

“Oh yeah, I think I vaguely heard about some of that,” Ben says. “Wasn’t that around the same time that he gave that speech that everyone’s making fun of now, the one about how the war was almost over and there was a light at the end of the tunnel and whatever?”

“Yes, exactly,” Hux says. “So what do you think happened next?” He looks at Ben expectantly. He’s put on that professorial tone again, Ben thinks, both amused and mildly annoyed; he sounds like a teacher trying to coax the correct answer from a slow student. At least the fact that Hux has the energy to condescend to Ben seems like a sign of good health, Ben reflects. 

“I have no idea,” Ben says. “Something bad, probably.”

“Well, yes, of course,” Hux says, somewhat impatiently. “Over the Christmas holiday I ran into one of the company commanders I had interviewed for my paper in a bar in Saigon. He was in the process of becoming very drunk. He told me he’d heard from his old ARVN partners that the Vietcong had moved back into the villages, and that everyone who had helped his soldiers had been executed.”

Ben winces. He thinks of Rose: even in the midst of his fears for Hux, he had been very relieved to see her briefly on TV the day after he woke up in the hospital, standing safely near his boss at a press conference. More recently, she had sent him a get-well card, in which she informed him that the new driver was an idiot and that Captain Paxton was more insufferable than ever. That seemed to be her way of telling Ben that she missed him. “Ouch,” he says. “I guess it’s not surprising that we didn’t know this was coming, if everyone who would’ve warned us was already dead.” 

“Precisely,” Hux says, returning his attention to the paper. “I wish I’d had the chance to visit Hue before this happened,” he says after a moment. 

“Yeah, it was beautiful,” Ben says sadly. “Hopefully you can visit it sometime when it’s peaceful again.”

“Everything I would have wanted to see will probably be destroyed by then,” Hux says matter-of-factly. “If the NVA have occupied the Citadel in any numbers, it’ll take an airstrike to dislodge them. Multiple airstrikes, most likely.”

“They can’t do that,” Ben says, horrified, thinking of the girls who had smiled at him and the women selling food and yellow flowers in the street. 

“Why not?”

“Because - because when you talked about it  
the Citadel being a military fortress, I pictured it being like a museum or something, like some old castle in Europe,” Ben says. “But it’s not. It’s the old city - it’s packed with people. It would be like launching an airstrike against the Lower East Side.”

Hux looks at him sympathetically. “I’m glad to hear you’re concerned about the people of Hue,” he says, “but if they don’t launch airstrikes it’ll be murder on your Marines on the ground.” He waves the picture of the wounded Marine at Ben. “In the age of air power, Vaubanian fortifications are obsolete, of course - but they’re still quite effective against dismounted infantrymen. That’s part of the point of them, to allow a small number of defenders to shoot as many approaching soldiers as possible.” He looks at the newspaper again for a moment. “And even if the Marines have got through the walls already - it sounds as if they have - they’ll have to clear every street, every house. In the end that may only mean that Hue is destroyed a little at a time instead of all at once.”

“Ugh,” Ben says. “I’m surprised you’re so calm about all this, honestly. I was afraid you’d be devastated.”

“It’s a setback, certainly,” Hux says, “but why would I be devastated?”

Ben looks at him incredulously. “Because - I mean, if the Vietcong can hit us anywhere they want, even in downtown Saigon, doesn’t that mean we’re losing the war?”

“Certainly not,” Hux says crossly. “From the sound of it, Hue is the only place where they’ve managed to hold territory - and the value of the old Imperial Citadel is more symbolic than strategic. They’ve been defeated everywhere else, and no doubt will be chased out of Hue as well before long.”

“But Westmoreland’s been saying for months that we’ve got them on the ropes and then they do this massive offensive,” Ben objects. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“It means that hopefully Westmoreland will be fired soon,” Hux says, looking cheered by the prospect, “and the next commander may be more sensible. With any luck I’ll be well enough to go back and make my case to him directly once he’s appointed.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ben says, aghast. “You almost died, you can’t even move without being sedated, and you’re planning to go back? The one good thing about this whole mess is that it got us both out of Vietnam.”

“Not all of us are defeatists like you,” Hux says snippily. He tilts his head back on his pillow, as if he’s trying to look down his nose at Ben without sitting up. “My work there isn’t done.”

Ben shakes his head despondently. “Next time I fall in love with someone,” he says, “I’m going to make sure beforehand that they’re not completely deranged.”

“But then you’ll have nothing in common,” Hux says triumphantly. 

***

“That was so weird,” Ben says, looking down at his new medal, in its black leather box. “They got it all wrong, how it happened.”

Hux shrugs. “Don’t fret,” he says, with a little sigh. “At least you’re getting some sort of recognition for what you did.”

The day before, Ben had been delighted to receive his guitar and a box of his other possessions in the mail from Di An, although he had been afraid to try out the guitar - afraid to hear how the richness of its sound might have faded in his damaged ears. There had also been a hand-written note from his former boss, thanking Ben for his service, wishing him a speedy recovery, and - to his surprise - informing him that the commander of the hospital would be presenting him not only with the Purple Heart he had expected, but also with a Silver Star for extraordinary bravery under fire. 

“I’m sorry I can’t pin it on you myself,” the general’s note had concluded, “but I know they’ll take good care of you out there. Keep up the fight!”

The award ceremony had taken place in a dreary basement auditorium, in front of an array of flags. Lieutenant O’Rourke - the red-haired nurse who was always particularly kind to Ben - made a point of attending, along with a handful of variously wounded soldiers who seemed as if they might have wandered in by mistake. Possibly they had hoped there might be food. Hux remained upstairs in bed: his leg was no longer in traction, but maneuvering him into a wheelchair was still a major undertaking. 

As he stood at attention on the small stage, Ben listened to the sergeant read the award citation with a sense of disbelief. It sounded as if they were talking about someone else, like a patriotic hero in a comic book. “During a surprise enemy assault in the early-morning hours of 31 January 1968, Private First-Class Benjamin Solo - “ he had been automatically promoted in December, after six months in the army - “immediately ran to the nearest guard tower and, finding it abandoned, took up the post and engaged the enemy... single-handedly held off a company-sized element of the NVA... continued to fire, in spite of his grave injuries and at great risk to his life... His heroic actions reflect great credit upon himself, the 1st Infantry Division, and the United States Army.”

“It didn’t really happen like that,” Ben said, as an avuncular silver-haired colonel pinned the medal to his shirt. “I didn’t do half that stuff. There was another guy there who did most of it.”

“That’s what I hear from every good soldier,” the colonel responded, gently, shaking Ben’s hand. “You earned it, son, even if they were mixed-up in some of the particulars. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

Now, looking at the Star, Ben says, “I wonder if they assumed I did all that stuff because I’m infantry and the other guy is a postal clerk. I wonder if he’ll get one of these? I feel like he probably won’t. Since he probably doesn’t know any generals.” _And he’s probably dead._

“Didn’t you say he began the engagement by shooting at an unarmed civilian?” Hux demands. “Why are you so concerned?”

“I don’t know. But, I mean, he got blown up while he was protecting me. Now I’m getting credit for what he did.”

“Isn’t there some sort of saying about the inadvisability of looking a gift horse in the mouth?” Hux says, frowning. “You’ll be going home a decorated war hero. Be happy.”

“No one at home is going to give a shit about this,” Ben says, putting the medal away. “I mean, my dad has a Bronze Star, but no one cares about that either. It’s not like they pay him more for a long-haul run because he did something brave back in like 1944.”

“Oh, I didn’t know your father served,” Hux says, looking more interested now. 

“Yeah, he was at Normandy, went all the way to Berlin, the whole nine yards,” Ben says. “He made it to sergeant, I think, but then he got busted down to private before he got out. For something stupid that happened during a bar fight. So I guess if I stay out of trouble I get to go home and tell him I outrank him now.”

Hux laughs. “Indeed,” he says. “I must say, with that background, I’m rather surprised that he wanted you to flee to Canada to avoid the draft.”

“Oh, yeah, my dad’s not like yours,” Ben says. “He only enlisted to get away from home. Under a fake name - ‘Solo’ is what he decided to call himself after he ran away.” 

“Ah, a _nom de guerre_ ,” Hux says, amused. “I had rather wondered where ‘Solo’ came from. Apparently the men in your family have a history of dramatically renaming themselves.”

“That was different than me,” Ben says, annoyed by the comparison to his father. “I’m trying to make it as a musician. No one’s going to want to buy an album made by some guy named Benjamin.”

“Don’t you listen obsessively to albums by ‘some guy’ named Bob? How is that _cooler_ than Benjamin?” Hux pronounces the word “cooler” with particular disdain. 

“Yeah, but Dylan changed his name too,” Ben says. “His real last name is Zimmerman. Every time I put on one of his records my parents start making fun of him for changing his name to sound less Jewish, even though my dad basically did the same thing... he doesn’t like to be told that, though.”

“Imagine that.”

“Anyway,” Ben says, “I was going to say, about my dad not wanting me to get drafted - he always used to tell me not to believe the propaganda about how everyone was so patriotic and happy to go to war against the Nazis. He says even back then most soldiers hated the Army. There’s a song he used to sing when he was drunk.” Ben lifts his chin and sings, “ _How I hate the fucking Army, hate it more than I can say... All I long for is my freedom... Roll on, roll on, Demob Day._ He says he used to sing that with his platoon all the time.”

“Charming,” Hux says, rolling his eyes.

“By the way,” Ben says, “did I ever tell you how my parents met?” The fact that Ben’s father had once been a young soldier who had gone off to war and come home with a European bride has been rather on Ben’s mind lately. At the very least, he’s decided, he’s not going to let Hux go home to London alone. It seems clear that Hux will continue to need help getting around for some time after he’s discharged from the hospital, and certainly he shouldn’t be left to the mercy of his brutal father, or the grandparents he hadn’t wanted to live with in Yorkshire.

Hux smiles. “No, you haven’t,” he says. “Did he gallantly rescue her from the Nazis?”

“What? Oh, no - my mom rescued herself from the Nazis, if anyone did,” Ben says. “The Soviets liberated Vilna. My mother’s group of partisans helped the Red Army take the city - they called themselves ‘The Avengers,’ like a comic book, it’s kind of crazy. Anyway, my parents met after the war, when my mother was in a displaced-persons camp in West Germany. My dad was a guard there.”

“Oh,” Hux says. “That’s not quite as romantic.”

“I guess not,” Ben admits. Somehow this story isn’t quite going the way he intended. “He got assigned there because he grew up speaking Yiddish at home, so he and the Germans in the camp could kind of understand each other. My mother heard him talking and realized that he must be Jewish. So she went over to yell at him.”

Hux laughs. “Whatever for?”

“I guess conditions in the camp were pretty awful - it was dirty and crowded and they were jamming Jewish refugees in with former Nazis - and my mom was pissed about it. So she went and shouted at my dad and told him he should be ashamed of himself, that he should allow such things to happen to his own people. Then they got married four months later.”

Hux laughs again. “Is this why you decided you were in love with me after I shouted at you once or twice?”

“No,” Ben says, scowling at him, “but I guess you could say that my dad and I have the same terrible taste. Or just the same bad luck.”

“Apparently so,” Hux says serenely. “If I may inquire, how did your mother come to be in West Germany? Did she decide that life in a socialist workers’ paradise wasn’t to her taste after all?”

“It had nothing to do with that,” Ben snaps, annoyed. “Why does everything come back to ideology with you? My mother was just trying to get out of Europe. I mean, do you know what they did to her parents? And to almost everyone she knew growing up?”

Hux winces slightly. “I suppose I can imagine.” His tone suggests strongly that he would prefer not to know any more.

“My mother was sixteen the summer that the Nazis took Vilna,” Ben says, ignoring Hux. “She said at first it was calm, as if everything was going to be all right, but her family was terrified anyway. They mostly hid in their apartment, but sometimes my mother and her brother would go out to get food. She said they would try to pretend to be a happy young couple - they thought that would look less suspicious.”

“Then what happened?” Hux asks, as if reluctantly curious. 

“One day in July they came home and found that the door had been smashed in and everyone was gone. She and her brother never saw their parents again.” Ben pauses. “Later on, the partisans told her that all the Jews who had been taken away that day had been shot. Near a railway station, in the suburbs.”

“I’m very sorry.” 

“I used to have nightmares about that all the time when I was a kid,” Ben says. “Not about them being shot - my mother didn’t tell me that part until much later. But coming home and your parents have disappeared - that’s pretty much the worst thing you can imagine as a kid, you know?” Hux looks pained, and Ben feels instantly guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - to bring up bad memories or anything.”

“It’s all right,” Hux says. “It wasn’t - sudden, like that, in my case. My mother had tuberculosis. A lot of people did, after the war. It took a long time. They kept me away from her for most of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says again. He squeezes Hux’s hand. “Well, I’m not going to disappear on you, ever. You can count on that.”

“I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat,” Hux says, but he keeps hold of Ben’s hand. 

***

A week later, Ben wakes up in the late afternoon, groggy and still sore from the headache that had crushed him back into bed that morning. He rubs his face, trying to muster the energy to drag himself upstairs. To motivate himself, he imagines Hux’s cool fingers sliding through his hair - _that’s exactly what I need,_ he thinks, sitting up and swinging his feet onto the floor.

“Oh, hi, Benny,” Lieutenant O’Rourke says, looking into the room. “I didn’t want to wake you earlier, but you might want to go see if your friend upstairs needs something. He sent a medic down here to look for you around lunchtime.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ben says, looking for his shirt, “be right there.”

When he arrives at the end of the upstairs hall, he’s startled to find the privacy curtains drawn back. An orderly is briskly pulling a clean set of sheets onto Hux’s mattress. Hux is nowhere to be seen, and his books and newspapers are no longer on the cabinet next to the bed. 

“Hey, man, sorry to bother you,” Ben says, his stomach corkscrewing anxiously, “but did they move him to some other room? Lieutenant Hux? He was here this morning.”

The orderly shrugs. “Sorry, I have no idea,” he says. “They just told me to get this area ready for a new patient.”

Ben looks towards the nurses’ station. To his dismay, the nurse on duty is the stern-faced woman who had seen him holding Hux’s hand. “Ma’am?” he says tentatively. 

“He’s been discharged,” she says, pursing her lips disapprovingly at Ben. “I can’t tell you anything other than that.”

The lingering pain behind Ben’s eyes spikes fiercely. “How could he be discharged?” he asks frantically. Surely Hux hadn’t somehow managed to find a way back to Vietnam. “He can’t walk - it takes like three people to get him out of bed - “

“We haven’t turned him out on the street,” she snaps. “The British embassy is coordinating his care from now on.”

“But where did they take him?” Ben asks, clutching at the side of his head. “I just - I need to call him - I didn’t get to say goodbye to him - “

“I already told you,” she says firmly, “I can’t give you any other information.” She looks back down at the papers on her desk. 

“Please,” Ben says urgently. She frowns, but doesn’t look up.

Ben leans heavily against the wall, feeling nauseous. He squeezes his uninjured eye shut and slides slowly down onto the floor as the throbbing in his head becomes unbearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: 
> 
> \- Injuries: The explosion described in the last chapter left Ben blind in one eye and damaged his hearing; he also has facial scars and severe headaches. Elsewhere, in the Tet Offensive attacks in Saigon, Hux was shot in the chest and thigh. The descriptions of their injuries are not very graphic but there are descriptions of them being in pain. There are also references to two OMCs who lost legs in combat.
> 
> \- References to the Holocaust: Ben talks more about Leia’s background and says that her parents were shot by the Nazis. No graphic details.
> 
> \- Combat violence/war crimes: there’s more general discussion of the Tet Offensive; there are references to civilians being targeted by both Americans and Communist forces; and Hux makes some comments that could be interpreted as a defense of using airstrikes against a heavily-populated city. Not graphic but potentially disturbing.
> 
> Sex: originally there was not going to be any sex in this chapter, because years ago I remember seeing someone (probably on LiveJournal because I am An Old) comment that “hurt/comfort has officially gone too far when you have two characters having sex around a chest catheter.” But I got carried away and now there’s a bit in which Hux tells Ben to jerk off and then put his fingers in Hux’s mouth. Sorry.
> 
> Acknowledgements/notes: 
> 
> \- The Avengers were a real and very fascinating group of Jewish partisans from Vilna - if you’re interested in learning more about them, I highly recommend “The Avengers: A Jewish War Story,” by Richard Cohen. 
> 
> \- The cadence that Ben sings and attributes to Han is a real WWII marching cadence, as quoted in Thomas Childers’ excellent “Soldier from the War Returning.”
> 
> \- If you’d like to read more about the Vietnam War from a South Vietnamese/Vietnamese-American perspective, I highly recommend Duong Van Mai Elliott’s “The Sacred Willow Tree” and Viet Thanh Nguyen’s “Nothing Ever Dies: Vietnam and the Memory of War.” I’m unfortunately not very familiar with North Vietnamese writers, but Marilyn Young’s “The Vietnam Wars” is an interesting, comprehensive history of the period that is very sympathetic to Hanoi’s perspective. 
> 
> Happy to discuss the writing choices I’ve made with regard to historical accuracy and the many controversial aspects of the war, if anyone has questions, concerns, or feedback. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for detailed content warnings and other notes.

Ben turns up the collar of his sheepskin jacket against the cold evening wind. It’s only October, but a light rain is falling, and there’s a damp, penetrating chill in the air. 

He looks down at the partly-crumpled index card in his hand. The rain is beginning to smear the ink, but the address is still clear. This is it - this narrow grey house that looks like every other house on the street. His heart thumps painfully as he hesitates in front of the door. 

From inside, he can hear a record playing. He strains his ears to listen - it’s Billie Holiday, he realizes. Her sweet, plaintive voice hangs in the evening air: _Although I can’t dismiss the memory of his kiss... I know he’s not for me..._

Ben smiles and lifts his hand to ring the bell. 

***

Months earlier, when he had found himself suddenly alone in the hospital in Japan, the aching solitude had been nearly as painful as his physical injuries. Worse, in some ways, because other people understood what had happened to him in Hue. But there was no one he could talk to about Hux. 

He thought about Finn, who had also been alone and injured in the hospital at Long Binh - had he felt this way? During one of his boss’s visits to Lai Khe, Ben had managed to track down Sergeant Dameron, and Dameron had told him brightly that Finn had been MEDEVAC’d to Hawaii, where they had managed to save his injured leg. 

“He’s probably at the beach right now,” Dameron said, grinning, “laughing at all of us poor suckers back here sleeping in the mud.” Dameron himself had been getting ready to rotate home at the time - he had been selected for Army flight school. But flight school was in Alabama, so far from Hawaii that, Ben thought, it might as well have been on the moon. 

Lying in bed in Yokohama, Ben wondered what Dameron’s cheerful demeanor might have masked, how hard he might have had to work to pretend that Finn was just his good buddy who was lucky enough to be out picking up girls in Waikiki while Dameron was stuck in the jungle around Lai Khe. That is, if Ben had been right about the two of them; it might all have been just his imagination. He wished in retrospect that he had tried harder to figure out a safe way to talk to them. 

The red-haired nurse, Lieutenant O’Rourke, sympathized with Ben’s distress about being separated from his friend: she looked up Hux’s discharge papers for him and found that he had been put on a MEDEVAC flight to Germany. With the help of a grandmotherly lady at the USO lounge, Ben managed to place a call to the military hospital at Landstuhl and ask if he could speak to Lieutenant Hux. But the hospital receptionist only told him politely that there was no one there by that name. 

To make matters worse, Ben didn’t have a single picture of Hux: all their photographs - both the pictures of Ben tied to Hux’s bed and the one that had been taken of the two of them at the snake show in Bangkok - had been in the rucksack he had taken with him to Hue. It had taken a full day of fighting for the Marines at Phu Bai to break through to the embattled MACV compound in Hue and clear a landing zone for the MEDEVAC helicopters; when it finally became possible to load Ben onto a helicopter to get him out, ensuring that all his gear went with him had been nobody’s top priority. 

Finally, in March, just before Ben himself was due to be shipped home, he received a postcard in the mail from Hux. “I’m quite well - recovering - hope you are the same,” it said. “Sorry to have left so abruptly. All best wishes.” It was unsigned, but there was a return address - a hospital in England, at a place called Aldershot. There was a picture of the hospital on the front of the postcard: it was a glowering pile of grey granite that looked to Ben like the sort of place where Batman might have had the Joker committed. 

At Lieutenant O’Rourke’s suggestion, Ben had been writing letters to Hux, hoping that eventually he would track down an address he could send them to. He hastily packed them into a large envelope, attached a note asking Hux to write back to him at his mother’s apartment in New York, and got them into the mail just before he left for the airport - although not before stopping briefly at the military travel office to see if he could possibly be sent to London instead of New Jersey. To his disappointment he was told in no uncertain terms that he would be considered AWOL if he didn’t show up in Fort Dix to out-process. 

As Ben slowly retraced the route he had taken to get to Vietnam - by air this time, to his relief - he chewed on his lower lip and wondered how long it might take Hux to write back to him. First there was a too-brief stopover in Hawaii, where Ben stared out at the spiky green mountains and the turquoise ocean and wondered if Finn was still there. Maybe on the beach, like Dameron had said, laughing at all the suckers stuck in Vietnam. Or had he made his way to Alabama to be with his - whatever Dameron was to him?

After Hawaii was a night in the transient barracks in Oakland, where the new recruits on their way to Vietnam stared anxiously at Ben’s scarred face and then glanced away if he made eye contact with them. One of them, a boy with acne and thick glasses who looked as if he were about fourteen, sidled over to Ben in the mess hall at dinner and offered him a cigarette. “Guess it was pretty hairy out there, huh?” he said. 

“It got bad at the end, yeah,” Ben said, taking the cigarette. “Some of it was all right.”

“You got any advice?”

Ben shrugged. “Look at my face,” he said. “Why would you want to take advice from me?”

The kid smiled nervously, fumbling with his lighter.

Once Ben got off the plane at Fort Dix, he was sent to see a woman in pink cat-eye glasses, who was chain-smoking furiously in a windowless office. She handed him a tan folder, which contained a map of the base and a checklist of offices he needed to visit. He spent the next few days wandering from one nondescript cinderblock building to another in the cold March wind, having his paperwork stamped and being screened for tuberculosis. It reminded Ben of an exceptionally boring scavenger hunt. 

In one of the offices, a VA representative in a hairy tweed jacket and horn-rimmed glasses informed Ben that he had been classified as 40% disabled - 30% for his eye, and an additional 10% for his hearing loss - which would entitle him to $82 per month. 

“What about my headaches?” Ben asked. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

The representative looked down at Ben’s file. “There’s no evidence that your headaches are service-connected,” he said. “Lots of people get headaches.”

“I got shot in the fucking head and now my fucking head hurts like hell,” Ben exploded. “That seems pretty fucking service-connected to me.”

The man looked severely at Ben over the tops of his glasses. “Don’t use that sort of language with me, young man.”

Later, after Ben had had time to look through the VA paperwork, he wrote to Hux about it; he felt that Hux would have appreciated its ghoulish bureaucratic absurdities. “I lost 50% of my eyesight but apparently I only get 30% disability pay for that,” he wrote. “It’s fucking bullshit. And I just found out if I’d lost my whole eyeball I’d get an extra 10%. Even though I can’t see shit, my eyeball is still there doing nothing, so I get forty bucks less a month. Who the fuck comes up with a system like this?”

Once his tuberculosis test came back negative, he went to see the woman in the cat-eye glasses again. She took his now fully-stamped checklist and exchanged it for his discharge papers and a bus ticket to the Port Authority in New York. It was three days before his twentieth birthday. 

_Did I really have to come all the way back here just for that?_ Ben thought, as he climbed onto the bus with his duffel bag and his guitar. When the New York City skyline came into view across the sunlit river, he stared at it, thinking that at one time he would have given anything to see it again. But now there was something hollow about coming home alone. 

No one was waiting for him at the bus stop. The Army had formally notified his parents that he had been wounded - his mother had been writing him letters that were presumably meant to be encouraging, about the surprising number of one-eyed people she knew who had gone on to do great things in life - but not that he was coming home. 

In a Port Authority men’s room that smelled of urine and diesel exhaust, Ben changed out of his uniform into the jeans and t-shirt he had been carrying around in his duffel bag since he first reported to basic training. It was too cold to wear his rubber-tire sandals from Bangkok, so he put his combat boots back on with his jeans. He held his crumpled uniform in his hands for a moment - he had always intended to throw it away as soon as he could, but now that the longed-for moment had come he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. _Go sit on the bed_ , he remembered Hux saying imperiously as he knelt between Ben’s legs. _Leave your uniform on._ Eventually he stuffed it back into his bag.

Ben had heard a lot of stories about protesters spitting on returning soldiers and calling them baby-killers; this had been a frequent topic of discussion in the basic-training barracks and in his squad’s tent at Lai Khe, where the rumors had circled around like a perpetual-motion machine, generating constant outrage. But no one so much as glanced in his direction as he walked towards the subway. _I guess it’s still New York,_ he thought. _No one really gives a shit what you do as long as you’re not blocking the sidewalk while you do it._

At the front door of his parents’ building, he discovered that his keys had vanished somewhere on the long round-trip between the Lower East Side and Vietnam. No one answered the bell, so he sat on the stoop in the cool spring sunshine until a neighbor let him into the lobby. 

When his parents eventually came home - they did seem gratifyingly delighted to see him, even though his mother seemed more pained by the sight of his scarred face than her cheerful letters would have suggested - he was not especially surprised to find that there was an unfamiliar teenage girl with them. She had the scruffy, earth-toned look of most of the young activists his mother marched and demonstrated with; people like that had been camping out in the Solos’ living room for as long as Ben could remember. He became somewhat alarmed when, after cheerfully introducing herself, she walked casually into Ben’s bedroom and shut the door behind her.

“She’s staying in my room?” Ben asked. “How long is she going to be here?”

His mother looked at him strangely. “She lives here,” she said. “I told you about Rey last fall. Didn’t you get my letters?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ben said, recalling that his mother had, in fact, written extensively to him about taking in a teenage runaway she had met at a protest - a girl who had been living on the street after escaping from some sort of unspeakably horrific foster home. At the time, he had been too preoccupied with his own concerns to give it much thought. He rarely paid much attention to his mother’s letters, anyway. “I guess - I didn’t realize you gave her my room.”

“What else should I do?” his mother demanded, frowning at him. “She’s a young girl, she needs privacy. You want she should sleep on the couch? With all your father’s friends around?”

“My friends aren’t going to hurt her,” Han protested. “But it’s not so bad on the couch, Ben, I’ve spent plenty of nights sleeping there myself.” He thumped Ben on the back. “Anyway, welcome home! Have a beer.”

_I’ve slept in much worse places,_ Ben reminded himself that night, shifting around as he tried to get comfortable. The couch was too short for him - his feet hung off the end - and had lumps in odd places, but it was unquestionably preferable to a muddy foxhole in Vietnam. Still, he found himself thinking longingly of the loft bed he had shared with Hux at their hotel in Bangkok, with its dark wood, and the hot sunlight glowing jewel-like through the silk curtains. Most of all, he missed being able to press his nose into the back of Hux’s neck and breathe in the faint citrus smell of his hair. The musty couch cushions that he clutched to his chest now were a very poor substitute.

In the weeks that followed Ben began to feel, resentfully, that Rey had taken his place in other ways as well. Ben had never wanted to be a truck driver like his father, but he had assumed that he could pick up some extra cash in between gigs by helping out on long-haul runs - but usually Rey seemed to be riding shotgun instead. And when she was home, she trotted cheerfully along to all the organizational meetings for a major anti-war rally Ben’s mother was planning for the fall. She wore Leia’s old clothes. In April, when Dr. King was assassinated in Memphis, Rey and Leia held each other and cried while Ben sat awkwardly nearby, adjusting the rabbit ears on the TV. 

“She’s like this perfect daughter they always wanted,” Ben wrote unhappily to Hux. “Tinkering with my dad’s truck always made me want to shoot myself in the face, but he says she’s ‘a natural’ and he lets her drive even when he’s not drunk. And she loves all this shit my mom is into, all her causes and demonstrations and whatever. The only thing my mom can’t get her to do is go back to school. But now she’s tutoring her for the GED, so they just spend even more time together.”

Leia had tried to get Ben involved in her anti-war work as well - “With what you’ve been through, you could make such a powerful statement” - but Ben had angrily refused. “I’m not doing that shit,” he said. “I’m not going to go be your sad poster boy and cry and throw my medals on the ground in front of a bunch of clueless kids who think I spent my time in Vietnam killing babies.” By this point, Ben had already been told not to come back to the coffee shop where he had sometimes performed for tips in high school, after a few run-ins with customers who had commented on his scars in what Ben felt was a hostile way. 

“No one’s going to say you killed babies,” Leia responded indignantly. “They understand. You were drafted, you had no choice - “

“I spent my last night in Vietnam firing a machine gun into an apartment building,” Ben snarled. “I’m not a fucking - I’m not a fucking lost little lamb who was led astray. I made my own choices - “

“They were made for you! By the men who put you there!”

“You’re the one who told me to throw away my firing pin!” Ben shouted. This had been one of the many pieces of advice in Leia’s letters that Ben had ignored - apparently she had read that some soldiers were doing this as an act of protest, to disable their weapons so that they couldn’t be forced to fire on civilians. He had told Hux about it at the time: Hux had initially seemed alarmed when he thought that Ben might actually do it; later they had laughed at the idea. “Remember that? I should have done that, right? But if I’d done that I’d be dead! If I’d listened to you - “

“I never wanted you to be hurt!” Leia shouted back, glaring up at him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. “I just didn’t want you to be guilty - to be ashamed - “

“I’m not guilty! I’m not ashamed!” The side of Ben’s head was beginning to throb; one of his headaches was coming on. The fact that he didn’t have his own room, his own quiet dark place to crawl off to, always became especially infuriating when his head hurt so badly that any light or sound was agony. Hux’s absence, too, was particularly painful at these times - Hux, with his cool slender fingers, who was not there to stroke Ben’s hair. “I’m just not dead! I know it’d be so much more convenient for you if I was - “

“That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“ - you could take my picture to your rally, talk about how sad it was that I died - “

“ _Benjamin_.” Leia touched his shoulder. Suddenly she looked more worried than angry. “Maybe you should go to see my brother upstate.”

“I’m not going to see your fucking brother!” Ben put his hands over his face and turned away.

“Now she’s trying to pack me off to stay with my weird uncle Luke,” Ben complained in another letter to Hux. “He’s always been kind of a mess. Never been able to hold down a job, just drifting around - my mom’s always sending him money. My dad told me that during the war the Resistance used to use him for the most dangerous missions, because he doesn’t look Jewish. But he was captured and tortured, and he’s never really been okay since - I guess my mom thinks that’s what I’m like now, too. These days, he’s living in some hippie commune in the Catskills, meditating and living off the land and whatever. I’m not doing that shit.”

Underpinning all Ben’s frustration and anger that spring was the fact that Hux had not written back to him. He hadn’t heard a word from Hux since the brief postcard he had received in Japan. Lying awake at night on the uncomfortable couch, he tortured himself with various possible explanations. What if Hux’s malaria had come back, worse this time? “It’s like worms, it basically eats your brain,” the sailor on the troopship had told the scared recruits on their way to Vung Tau. And what if they didn’t have the new miracle drug in England?

Or what if Hux’s father had somehow intercepted Ben’s letters? For exactly this reason, Ben had avoided writing down many of things he really wanted to say to Hux - _I miss the way you squirm when I pinch your nipples, I miss the little sounds you make when I suck your cock, I miss the taste of your come in my mouth; do you remember all the times I made you come just by fucking you?_ \- but unquestionably the volume and intensity of Ben’s letters might seem suspicious to someone whose mind was already inclined that way. Especially if Hux’s father had also found the pictures of Ben tied to Hux’s bed. 

Then, of course, there were the other possibilities: Hux was tired of Ben; Hux had never wanted anything more from Ben than a convenient fuck - after all, he had said as much, many times; Hux had met someone else, or reunited with an old boyfriend - the rugby player who now lived in Woking, possibly. Ben wondered sometimes how far Aldershot was from Woking. Anyway, if all Hux wanted was sex, surely that couldn’t be difficult to find in London. Or maybe Hux had found someone better-educated than Ben, someone with opinions that Hux found interesting instead of ridiculous and naive. 

Ben had heard his own parents fighting about similar issues all his life. Before the war, Leia’s parents had been wealthy: her father had been a prominent doctor, with a spacious apartment on a fashionable street in Vilna, and they had sent her to an expensive girls’ school where she learned to speak French and play the piano. One of the great regrets of Leia’s life was that she had not been allowed to finish secondary school, as she had reminded Ben many times while he was reluctantly thrashing his own way through high school. When Leia came to New York, she had worked furiously to learn English, earn her GED, and eventually get through City College to become a teacher. 

Looking around their apartment now, Ben was conscious, in a way that he had never been before Hux began bringing him to elegant hotels, of its shabbiness - the ancient slipcovered furniture, the dingy kitchen with its smell of a thousand meals, the windows that mostly looked out onto an alleyway. It was a long way from the Hotel Continental in Saigon, where Hux and Ben had often had coffee and fresh French bread for breakfast at an ornate table in the frangipani-filled inner courtyard. The hotel had had its own peacock, which swished magnificently around the courtyard and occasionally let out an unearthly shriek. 

It occurred to Ben now to wonder how painfully their present circumstances must contrast with the lost world of his mother’s childhood memories - although Leia had never said or suggested that she might be unhappy. Most of what Ben knew about her privileged upbringing, in fact, came from Han, who often referred to it in derisive terms, especially when he was drunk. His nickname for Leia was “Princess” - said affectionately at times, and with biting sarcasm at other times.

Han’s own childhood had not included much time spent on Romance languages or piano-playing. From what Ben knew of them - he had never met them - Han’s parents had been pieceworkers in the Garment District. From an early age Han had supplemented the meager existence they could provide for him with various schemes and hustles; for him, school had been more of an obstacle course than a path to opportunity. 

Leia didn’t exactly go out of her way to make Han feel uneducated, Ben thought, but there was certainly a fine edge of condescension in her voice when she talked to him about politics or world events - especially if he was being sarcastic about her activism, which was often the case. It occurred to Ben that he had frequently been similarly sarcastic about Hux’s grand plans. Maybe Hux was tired of it. And so maybe he had found someone who shared more of his interests, possibly someone who had also gone to an expensive boarding school and knew what a Vaubanian fortification was. 

But at heart Ben didn’t really believe that. After all, Hux had seemed to enjoy lecturing and condescending to Ben; it had been one of his favorite pastimes, in fact. And then there was all the rest of it: Hux had asked for Ben when he woke up in the hospital; he had saved Ben from the nightmare forest - had saved his life, most likely; he had bought Ben a Gibson guitar; he had washed Ben’s bleeding feet when he came back from patrol. He had always refused to admit that he cared about Ben, but it seemed obvious that he did. Maybe he just didn’t know how to say it - it sounded as if he might have been raised by people who never told him that they loved him. Maybe he thought that love wasn’t something that could happen between two men. Or maybe he had just needed more time. 

Most likely, Ben concluded, Hux just wasn’t getting his letters. After all, Ben was still sending them to the military hospital in Aldershot, since that was the only address he had, and Hux might very well have been discharged before Ben’s first packet of letters ever reached him. But whatever the reason, Hux’s silence tormented him. Night after night, the various ways in which Hux might have been permanently lost to him worked through Ben’s brain like bits of broken glass. 

After weeks of this, Ben finally told his mother some of what was bothering him. He didn’t feel able to tell her what Hux really was to him, even though he had often imagined bringing Hux home to meet his parents - they would be shocked at first, he had thought, but he had always felt certain that they would eventually embrace Hux. After all, they both prided themselves on being unconventional free-thinkers. And they would want Ben to be happy. 

But proudly bringing Hux home to his family would have been a very different thing than letting his mother see just how wounded and rejected he felt now. However, she didn’t probe into his feelings about Hux or suggest that there might be anything strange about the depth of his unhappiness; she simply took his dilemma in stride and looked at it as a practical problem. “You should go to the reference library,” she declared. “They might be able to help you find his regiment, and you can reach your friend that way.”

Ben was skeptical. Finding lost lieutenants didn’t seem like the sort of thing one could reasonably ask a librarian to do, and he had always been mildly intimidated by the palatial Central Reference Library, with its marble columns and stone lions. But to his surprise, one of the librarians seemed positively delighted to have the opportunity to help a wounded veteran find the lieutenant he had served with in Vietnam. She bustled about, stacking heavy leather-bound books in front of Ben, and scanning indices for information that might help them identify Hux’s regiment. 

While the librarian was in a back room looking up something she had found in a listing of periodicals, Ben flipped through a large illustrated guide to British military heritage, feeling rather overwhelmed by the variety of colorful uniforms and bewildering traditions. He was somewhat interested to learn that Welsh Guardsmen were ceremonially presented with a fresh leek once a year, and he liked the look of the Royal Highland Fusiliers, who wore kilts. He spent a few happy moments imagining Hux in a kilt with nothing underneath it, before the librarian returned. She looked triumphant.

“Based on what you’ve told me,” she said, “I think your Lieutenant Hux may belong to one of the Foot Guards regiments. You know, that’s where the guards at Buckingham Palace come from - wouldn’t that be something!” She looked at Ben expectantly.

“Oh cool,” said Ben, who did not especially care one way or the other about Buckingham Palace guards. _I wonder if the Foot Guards wear kilts?_ he thought. 

“And,” she said, waving a magazine at him - it had a cover photograph of a man in a red uniform; he was wearing a bearskin hat and blowing a horn - “I’ve found an address for the adjutant of the Brigade of Guards! Write to their office. They should be able to help you.”

“Thank you so much,” Ben said, feeling suddenly close to tears. “I really - I appreciate it so much. I don’t even know what to tell you.” He reached out awkwardly to hug her. She smelled like clean laundry. She patted his shoulder, a bit uncomfortably.

“Aren’t you sweet,” she said, gently pushing him away. “Now go write to your friend’s unit! And come back and tell me if you find him.”

Some weeks later, a letter came in the mail for Ben, with a return address in London. Ben opened it, his heart pounding wildly. It was not from Hux directly, as he had barely dared to hope, but it was the next best thing. It was from the assistant brigade adjutant, one Captain Swithers. In neat typewriting on thick cream-colored paper, it informed Ben that Lieutenant Armitage Hux was in fact assigned to the Grenadier Guards, and that he would be pleased to receive Ben’s letters at an address provided at the bottom of the letter.

Feeling elated and hopeful for the first time in many weeks, Ben wrote to Hux immediately. “I miss you so much - please write back as soon as you get this,” he scribbled. “I can’t talk to anyone here the way I could talk to you. I feel like I’m back in high school. I’m just frustrated and mad all the time. You know, it’s weird, because I hated the Army and a lot of what happened in Vietnam was so miserable - but I feel like the time I spent with you there was the happiest in my life. Please write back to me, Hux. I hope you’re okay.”

For a few days after sending this letter, Ben felt cheerfully buoyed by the happy anticipation of receiving a response at last - surely now that he had the right address, Hux would write to him immediately. He also spent a certain amount of time in the shower jerking off - always a dangerous pastime in the Solos’ shower, which tended to swing wildly from freezing cold to scalding heat without warning - to the thought of Hux in a kilt. He imagined coming up behind Hux in a crowd and sliding a hand under the kilt to feel his bare skin and make him squirm. Then Ben would slick up his fingers and press them inside Hux, feeling the blood-heat of him, fingering him slowly until Hux was gasping and cursing and begging for Ben to bend him over and fuck him in front of everyone. 

A week passed, and then two, with no response from Hux; Ben sent another letter, and another, in increasingly despairing tones. He wondered if Hux was angry that Ben had contacted his unit. Maybe Hux thought it looked suspicious, or maybe Hux just thought Ben was too pathetic and desperate to deserve an answer. Finally, he gave up. 

The hot summer ground on. The city smelled of asphalt melting in the sun. Ben abandoned the couch in the Solos’ stuffy living room and spread his Army-issue bedroll on the fire escape outside, where at least there was a breeze. His spot in the living room was immediately occupied by his uncle Luke, who had come in to the city for an extended visit, and brought a male friend from his commune with him. It belatedly occurred to Ben, as he watched them lean into each other on the couch, that, at least in one respect, he might have more in common with his uncle than he had previously suspected. Also, possibly, that there might have been more behind Leia’s attempts to get him to visit Luke than a desire to conveniently warehouse all of her broken family members in the Catskills. 

Meanwhile, the world around their apartment seemed to be cracking apart at the seams. Robert Kennedy had been assassinated in June, just moments after promising to bring the troops home from Vietnam; Leia, who had been fundraising for his presidential campaign, was deeply distraught. August brought the battles at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, and a November victory for Nixon - whom Leia had long since deemed deserving of all her most colorful Yiddish epithets - began to seem increasingly likely. 

To add to Leia’s distress, the New York teachers’ union was embroiled in a conflict that pitted Jewish and black teachers against each other. They were headed towards a strike, which Leia strongly opposed, but the idea of crossing a picket line was also anathema to her. Her usually unshakable optimism seemed to be fraying at the edges. She began to talk about moving to Israel, where most of her surviving friends from Vilna had gone after the war. Han told her she was being ridiculous. As far as Han was concerned, New York City was the true homeland of the Jewish people; in his opinion, only “people’s crazy uncles” left New York for Israel. Besides, he pointed out, inarguably, what would Rey do if they went to Israel? She wasn’t Jewish, and they didn’t have legal custody of her; she wouldn’t be able to come.

During these arguments, Rey hovered unhappily in the background, while Luke and his friend meditated and chanted mantras on the living room floor. Ben did his best to ignore all of them, but it felt as if the small apartment and its inhabitants were being simmered over a low flame. 

The one bright spot in Ben’s life that spring and summer was that he had managed to get a job working security for concerts at the Fillmore East, which had opened that March in the Village, not far from his parents’ apartment. On the plane back from Japan Ben had read about Big Brother and the Holding Company’s already-legendary opening-night concert at the Fillmore, and he made it back to the city just in time to get the cheapest tickets to see the Doors there later that month. 

To his great relief, it turned out that loud music didn’t trigger his headaches - in fact, it made him feel better, because the higher the volume, the less he noticed the damage that the explosion had done to his hearing. As he rapturously watched Jim Morrison, who seemed to shimmer like an apparition above the heads of the crowd, he felt, for the first time, as if there might have been some point to coming home. The music thrummed through the soles of his feet like an electric current. 

After the show, one of the security guards struck up a conversation with Ben. He had noticed Ben’s still-fresh scars and his now somewhat overgrown military haircut and seemed to want to swap war stories. Ben listened politely to his account of how “fucking crazy” Operation Junction City had been, the previous year. Ben was not actually especially interested and the story was rather difficult to follow, but he could understand what it was like to come home and not have anyone who really wanted to hear about what had happened to you. 

“So anyway,” his new friend said, “how long you been back? You looking for work?”

“Yeah, kind of,” said Ben, who had not done much besides scan the bulletin boards at various coffee shops to see if anyone was looking for a guitarist. “Nothing so far. I haven’t even gotten my first check from the VA yet.” 

“Yeah, you could starve to death waiting for those guys to get off their ass and help you,” the guard said sympathetically. “You want me to talk to my boss for you? He likes to hire vets.”

“Yeah, that’d be amazing, actually,” Ben said eagerly. “Thanks, man.”

The head of security at the Fillmore turned out to be a squat, thick-necked military police officer who had recently retired after a twenty-year Army career. He was so impressed by Ben’s Silver Star - which Ben had scribbled, almost as an afterthought, in the “Other Qualifications” block on the application form - that Ben was rather embarrassed.

“I probably shouldn’t have gotten it, honestly,” Ben said uncomfortably. “The whole situation was fu- was messed-up.”

“Yeah? You lose that eye falling off a barstool in Saigon?” the man said. “Don’t be so modest. When can you start? I need guys like you - we’ve got some real motherfuckers out here.”

Ben assumed that this was a generic epithet, but it turned out that there was an actual sub-group of Fillmore patrons who had cheerfully nicknamed themselves “the Motherfuckers” because they were determined to “liberate” the club from what they saw as its fascist administrators. Before the Fillmore opened, they had apparently planned to take over the space in the name of “the people” so that they could use the hall for “free exchanges of goods and energy.” Most of their current grievances seemed to center around the fact that the Fillmore’s management forbade pot-smoking and nude dancing during concerts. They were especially troublesome during the club’s free Thursday nights, when the generally well-meaning hippie element of the Motherfuckers was often outnumbered by more hard-core drug addicts and dealers, and the presence of former soldiers on the club’s security team generally did not help matters.

Somewhat to his own surprise, Ben found that he was actually rather good at keeping the peace with the Motherfuckers, especially once his hair grew out. To some of the other security guards, the Motherfuckers seemed like space aliens who had parachuted in to cause trouble for no reason. One of the guards compared them to the Vietcong. But to Ben, they were familiar, like annoying cousins: they were the same scruffy kids who had been helping his mother raise various kinds of hell for as long as he could remember. He rather liked them. He liked the other guards, too, in a distant sort of way; their chatter about girls and music and football reminded him, not unpleasantly, of his platoon at Lai Khe. 

Still, he was lonely. As much as he loved the music and sometimes the camaraderie at his job, dealing with both the Motherfuckers and the security team required Ben to put on the same generic just-one-of-the-guys facade that, he was beginning to realize, had made him unhappy all his life. Certainly there was no one at the club whom he could talk to about Hux. And there was something depressing about watching other musicians every night on a stage where it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would ever get to perform himself. 

In August, after months of silence from Hux, he finally got up the nerve to venture out to a bar called Julius’, near Christopher Street - he had heard his fellow security guards laughing about it. He walked by the door a few times, looking at it out of the corner of his eye, before finally going in. It was relatively early on a Tuesday night - it was Ben’s night off from the Fillmore - and the place was dark and quiet. A few men were playing pool in the back. 

Ben sat down at the bar and ordered a beer, feeling that it had been a mistake to come. He rarely went out, anyway - he heard plenty of live music at work, and he was trying to save money. He told himself that he was saving up to get his own place, but several times he had walked into a nearby travel agency to ask about the cost of a plane ticket to London. 

As he sipped his beer, he flipped idly through a pamphlet entitled _Gay Scene Guide_ that someone had left on the bar. He was amused to see that it advised the discerning gay traveler to avoid Queens entirely (“in spite of the name”) and was interested to find that its surprisingly extensive listings included an unassuming nearby coffee shop where Ben had eaten lunch once or twice. He had never noticed anything out of the ordinary there. He wondered if there was some sort of secret handshake that he had never learned; Hux would probably say that the problem was his terrible taste in clothes, he reflected.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” asked a voice as Ben finished his beer and stood up. Ben glanced up to a see a preppy-looking blond kid watching him from the end of the bar. 

_What’s it to you?_ Ben almost said, before reminding himself that, in theory, he had come here to meet people. “Maybe, yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s pretty dead here.”

“Can I walk with you?”

“Yeah, okay,” Ben said, thinking, _Fuck it, whatever, Hux doesn’t want me anyway._ Besides, he liked the way the kid was looking at him: eager and interested, a little shy. His blue eyes darted from Ben’s face to his tight T-shirt and back again. 

“I’m Xan,” said the kid, as they stepped out into the hot summer evening together.

“Xan?”

“Uh, it’s really Alexander,” the kid said, looking embarrassed, “but I’m trying something new, you know?”

“No, I get it,” Ben said, feeling suddenly warm towards this stranger. Xan turned down Seventh Avenue, walking south, and Ben followed him. “I go by Kylo, but that’s not the name I was born with either.”

“Oh nice,” said Xan, smiling at Ben. There was a pause. Ben looked up at the sulfur-yellow sky. “Can I ask - did you get hurt in Vietnam? Or, like, riding a motorcycle or something?”

“Terrible slingshot accident, actually,” Ben said, deadpan. _Riding a motorcycle, that’s probably another thing I’ll never be able to do now,_ he thought. 

“Wait, really?”

“No.”

“Sorry,” Xan said hastily. “I know it’s none of my business. I’m just - I have a college deferment from the draft, but I’m really scared my number’s going to come up anyway. I feel like I’d probably get the shit beaten out of me in the Army. Even if I never got near Vietnam.”

Ben looked at Xan. He was small, slightly built. His face had the pink-and-white prettiness of a porcelain doll. “You’ll be all right,” Ben said, feeling rather sorry for him. “Hopefully this crap’ll be over with before you get called up. And if isn’t, then don’t be like me - do whatever you have to do to stay out of the infantry. Go to Canada. Enlist in the Navy. Whatever.” _Tell the draft board you like to suck dick._

Xan laid a warm hand on Ben’s bicep. “So it was pretty bad there?”

“Yeah, some of it,” Ben said, gesturing towards his eyepatch. “But I did meet a guy I really liked there. That part was pretty great, actually.”

Xan laughed. “Really? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Xan looked worried suddenly, maybe because of Ben’s wistful tone. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “We were both in the hospital last time I saw him. He got sent home without me.”

“I’m sorry,” Xan said. He cleared his throat awkwardly, pausing in front of a rundown brownstone. “Anyway, uh, this is me. If you want to come up. My roommate’s out of town.”

Ben hesitated, his hands in his pockets, feeling somewhat tempted. Xan was so pretty; he looked as if he would taste like strawberry ice cream. Ben could probably pick him up one-handed and fuck him against the wall. He was looking at Ben as if that might be what he wanted. 

“Sorry,” Ben said regretfully. “I want to - I just - I can’t - “

Xan shrugged. “I kind of figured you’d say that.” He looked somewhat hurt, regardless. “If you change your mind I’m in 3A.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben said, watching him turn the key and disappear into a poorly-lit hallway. _Fucked up again,_ he thought. _As usual._

***

A month later, Ben lost his job. Because of his headaches, he had called out sick at the last moment one too many times. 

“Look, buddy,” his boss said, “it’s nothing personal, but I gotta have people who’ll show up. You know?”

“I know,” Ben said, too tired and sore to even be angry. 

“Take care of yourself, okay? Go see a doctor. A young guy like you, you shouldn’t have to live like this. Talk to the VA.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, squeezing his eyes shut as his head throbbed, “okay.” He put the phone down.

The next day, once his headache had subsided, he walked to the travel agency and bought a one-way ticket to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: not much that’s new. Mostly angst: Ben is still suffering from the long-term effects of his head injury and is very unhappy about being separated from Hux. Also, his reunion with his family is rocky, and at one point he accuses his mother of wishing that he was dead. 
> 
> Also, there’s a short description of Ben fantasizing about having sex with Hux in public, and Ben briefly considers having sex with an OMC (he doesn’t). 
> 
> Other notes: the “Gay Scene Guide” that Ben flips through at the bar is a real publication from 1968 that has been helpfully digitized here:   
> http://dcmny.org/islandora/object/lgbt%3A3#page/6/mode/2up. Very interesting little time capsule of queer NYC history.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags - see detailed (and spoiler-y) content warnings at the end of the chapter.

“Hux?” Ben says, tentatively.

Standing silhouetted in the bright doorway, Hux blinks out into the rainy evening. “Christ, Benjamin - is that really you?” he asks incredulously. Ben can’t quite tell if he’s more alarmed or pleased by Ben’s sudden arrival. 

“It’s me,” Ben says, his voice cracking. “Hux - I know, I’m crazy to come all this way - but I had to see you - “

Hux shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You are absolutely mad,” he says, “but - well, come in! Don’t stand out in the rain.”

Ben steps past him eagerly into the living room, remembering at the last moment that his boots are dirty; he stops awkwardly before he steps onto the carpet. He glances around - somehow he had imagined that Hux’s quarters would look rather like the illustration of Sherlock Holmes’ study in one of his mother’s books at home, with a leather armchair in front of a roaring fireplace, and stacks of books everywhere. There is in fact a fireplace, but no fire, and the room is cold. Aside from a small television on a stand and a record player in the corner, the only piece of furniture is a long, flat, modernist sofa in an icy shade of blue. It looks expensive and not especially comfortable. 

The only personal touch is a large framed photograph over the fireplace - a picture of a slightly younger Hux in an impressive red-and-gilt uniform, standing with his arm around an athletic-looking blond woman in a silver cocktail dress. She appears to be at least half a head taller than Hux. The two of them look out at the room with identically ironical expressions. 

Ben reaches out towards Hux, who is silently observing him. Hux’s face is hard to read. Ben pulls his hand back, not sure if he’s allowed to touch him. Hux is wearing a heavy black bathrobe - _a dressing gown_ , some part of Ben’s brain supplies - over what seem to be his pajamas. He’s leaning on a cane and he looks rather pale and tired, but still perfect, beautiful, his red hair falling over his forehead. _Well, at least I found him_ , Ben thinks, _and he’s all in one piece and I didn’t just walk in on him having dinner with his new boyfriend_. “I - Hux, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he stammers, feeling stupid. “You look good!”

“So do you,” Hux says, looking Ben up and down with something of that same old spark in his green eyes. He steps closer and reaches up to tug at Ben’s shaggy hair. Ben’s heart pounds furiously. “Although I see you’ve turned into a hippie.”

Ben laughs, mostly with relief. The familiarity of Hux’s gesture and tone makes his chest ache. He takes Hux’s cold hand and presses it against his face. “Long hair is unkempt and faddish, I know,” he says. “But at least it hides my ears.”

“I always rather liked your enormous ears,” Hux says, pushing Ben’s hair back to stroke his ear with a fingertip. His touch sparks along Ben’s every nerve. “But I suppose the long hair goes well with your new piratical look.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben says, trying to keep his tone light. “You were going to be a merchant seaman, right? You still want me to steal you away on my pirate ship?”

Hux looks a little sad suddenly. “That was always a pleasant fantasy,” he says. He clears his throat. “So - have you just come from New York today? How long will you be in town?”

“Yeah, just got here.” Ben bites his lip. “And, uh, I don’t know. I bought a one-way ticket.”

Hux looks slightly alarmed. “I see,” he says. “Well - you must be exhausted. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Would you like a sandwich?” He turns away from Ben, towards the small kitchen. The tip of his cane thunks heavily on the wooden floor. 

“I had one on the train,” Ben says, setting his bag and guitar case down in the entryway. He touches Hux’s shoulder. “And I don’t need tea - Hux, please, just come here?” Hux hesitates, his back to Ben, and Ben steps forward to crush him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Hux from behind and pressing his face into Hux’s hair. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“These last several months have been rather awful,” Hux agrees, squirming enjoyably against Ben. The wool of his bathrobe is warm and soft. “You’re very damp - we’d better get you out of those wet clothes.”

Ben squeezes Hux tighter, bumping his nose against Hux’s ear. He still fits perfectly against Ben’s chest. “I see you haven’t changed,” he says, laughing a little. Hux shivers as Ben nuzzles at his neck. “Still ordering me to strip every chance you get.”

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Hux says tartly. “Come this way, I’ll draw you a bath. You’re probably filthy.”

“Probably,” Ben agrees cheerfully. He lets go of Hux to tug off his boots, and follows Hux into the bathroom. All his questions - _did you get my letters, why didn’t you write back to me, what have you been doing, did you meet someone else?_ \- pulse in his brain, but he doesn’t want to break the spell; he has a sudden sense of having dropped back in time, as if he and Hux had never been separated. It feels almost as if he had come back from a patrol at Lai Khe to bang on Hux’s door, with Hux alternately insulting him and fussing over him. “You going to wash me? Make sure I’m clean?”

“I might, if you behave yourself,” Hux says, glancing archly at Ben over his shoulder. 

Ben feels heat curl through him. “I’ll be good for you, I promise,” he says, grinning. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Will you, now,” Hux says, raising an eyebrow at Ben. He flips a switch on a grey tank attached to the bathroom wall - it responds with a wheezy, rattling sound, as if it were choking to death - and sits down carefully on the edge of the tub, crossing his ankles and leaning his cane against the wall. He looks up at Ben. “In that case, while we wait for the hot-water heater - take off your clothes.”

“Sure thing,” Ben says, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the door. He winks at Hux as he reaches for the edge of his t-shirt. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I’ll try not to faint from excitement.”

 _Are we really doing this?_ Ben thinks, as he peels off his shirt. But, as he undresses with Hux’s sharp eyes on him, it suddenly feels possible that they could just slip together into any of the futures that Ben had imagined for them, seamlessly, as if nothing had ever come between them. Ben flicks open the top button of his fly, and Hux licks his soft pink lips.

“I see you still don’t wear anything under your trousers,” Hux says, in a tone of voice that wants to be disapproving but doesn’t quite succeed. His eyes fix on Ben’s cock as Ben shoves his jeans down over his hips and kicks them off. “That’s, ah. Very unhygienic.”

“Uh-huh,” Ben says, stepping forward so that his erection juts towards Hux’s face. Hux swallows visibly. “Isn’t that why you need to make sure I’m not dirty?”

“Fuck, just - “ Hux leans forward suddenly, digging his nails into Ben’s bare hip, dragging him closer. Ben yelps, startled, as Hux sucks Ben’s cock abruptly into his hot mouth.

“Jesus,” Ben whimpers, sliding his fingers into Hux’s silky short hair, “you don’t waste any time, do you - that’s so good - fucking _hell_ , Hux.“ After so long with nothing the sudden rush of sensation is almost unbearable. Hux is bobbing his head, sucking furiously, making little pleased sounds. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s pressing the heel of his hand between his legs. 

_I don’t even care what he’s been doing since March_ , Ben thinks dizzily. _I just don’t want this to end._ Then he wonders if Hux has done this for anyone else. The image of Hux on his knees, letting other men use his pretty mouth - maybe in a seedy bar somewhere, maybe on all fours getting fucked from behind at the same time - suddenly overwhelms Ben. He rocks his hips, feeling both angry and also as if he might be only seconds away from coming. 

“You miss this?” Ben demands, thrusting forward into Hux’s mouth. “You miss my cock? Couldn’t even wait till I got cleaned up - you need it that bad?” Hux smacks his ass sharply, as if to tell him to shut up, but doesn’t stop sucking him. Ben curls over to slide his hands into Hux’s robe and pinch both of his sensitive little nipples through his thin shirt. Hux makes a choked-off sound in his throat. His body spasms in Ben’s hands. He looks up and meets Ben’s eyes as he swallows hard around Ben’s cock, and it all becomes too much - the blissful, almost drugged expression on Hux’s face, and the perfect silky heat of his mouth - and Ben is coming down his throat with an inarticulate cry. 

Hux stands up hastily and almost falls, his injured leg turning inward under him. Ben catches him, clutching him close. “Hey, easy,” Ben says softly, kissing him. “Where you going?”

Hux wriggles away, reaching for his cane. “I, ah, need to change my clothes.” His face is very pink.

“Oh,” Ben says, catching on. He laughs. “Don’t leave - just stay and take a bath with me, why don’t you?”

“No,” Hux says flatly. He turns on the bath taps. Rusty-looking water rushes into the tub. There are a series of what sound like small explosions in the pipes. 

“Why not?”

Hux grimaces. “Because I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Ben touches his shoulder; Hux shrugs him off irritably. “Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden? Hux, it’s hot as fuck that you came in your pants while you were sucking me off. I love that. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“It’s not so much that, it’s my leg,” Hux says. “It looks - rather awful.”

Ben reaches for him again, and this time Hux allows himself to be hugged. “Hux,” Ben says into Hux’s ear, “babe. I look like a fucking Halloween mask and you still want to blow me, for some reason. And I came all this way to see you. You really think I’m going to give a shit about a scar on your leg?”

Hux relaxes slightly in his arms. “You’ve never called me ‘babe’ before,” he says in a small voice, his lips moving against Ben’s bare shoulder. “I hope you won’t make a habit of it.”

“Try and stop me,” Ben says, squeezing him. He kisses the side of Hux’s neck. “Let me take these clothes off you? Please?”

“Oh all right,” Hux says, “if you insist.” He shrugs off his robe and hangs it neatly on a hook, holding on to Ben’s shoulder. “Also, I thought we agreed that you look like a pirate, not a Halloween mask.”

“Don’t they make pirate Halloween masks?” Ben tugs Hux’s t-shirt over his head and kisses his collarbone.

“Must you argue with me even when I’m trying to compliment you?” Hux seems to be trying to sound cross, but he gasps as Ben ducks his head to tease at one of Hux’s nipples with his teeth. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ben says, breathing deliberately on Hux’s wet skin. Hux shivers against him. Ben flicks at one nipple with the tip of his tongue, rolling the other between his fingers. He moves his mouth briefly lower to kiss the puckered scar where the sniper’s bullet had passed between Hux’s ribs, then goes back to licking and sucking at Hux’s nipples until Hux is panting and squirming in his arms, clutching at Ben’s shoulders, getting hard again.

“Get these wet pajamas off me, if you won’t let me go change,” Hux demands, rather breathlessly. “They’re sticking to me.”

Ben kneels in front of him on the hard tiled floor. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” he says teasingly, gesturing at the wet spot on the front of Hux’s pajamas. He gently peels off Hux’s damp pants, pulling them down over his narrow hips. His pretty pink cock is beginning to stand up between his thighs, and Hux thrusts his hips eagerly towards Ben’s mouth. Ben ignores this. “Been a while?”

“Shut up,” Hux says, swatting at him, which Ben, pleased, decides to take as a _yes_. The scar on Hux’s thigh is, in fact, painful to look at; it’s large and mottled purple and deeply indented, as if the bullet had taken out a chunk of the muscle in addition to shattering the bone. Ben wonders whether to try to say something reassuring about it, but he suspects that anything he could say would only make matters worse. Instead he buries his face between Hux’s thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin there. Hux breathes in harshly and tugs at Ben’s hair, trying to pull his face towards his cock. 

“Is that why you didn’t want to get in the bath with me?” Ben asks, mouthing lightly at Hux’s balls. Hux lets out a little squeak. “Because you wanted me to lick you clean?”

“You do like the sound of your own voice,” Hux says, inhaling sharply as Ben sucks hard at a sensitive bit of his inner thigh. 

“You like it too,” Ben says, “don’t lie - you love it when I tell you what I want to do to you. How hot you get me - oh, shit, Hux, I think the tub’s about to overflow.”

“What - oh, damn,” Hux says, turning around rapidly to turn off the taps and nearly falling again. Ben grabs him.

“Why don’t we get in before it gets cold,” Ben says, helping Hux over the rim of the tub, thinking, _This would probably be safer if you sat down._ Water sloshes over the edge as Ben gets in behind him. He sinks into the hot water with a sigh, pulling Hux back against him. “That feels so good.”

He debates taking off his eyepatch and dunking his head under the water, but he isn’t sure he wants Hux to see how his scarred, sightless eye deforms his face. Hux might like the look of him with the eyepatch, but without it - 

“Mm-hmm,” Hux says, pulling Ben’s hand down between his legs. “Weren’t you in the middle of something?”

“You’re so impatient,” Ben laughs, closing his teeth over the curve where Hux’s neck meets his shoulder. He runs his fingertips lightly up and down the length of Hux’s cock, under the water, and Hux curses under his breath. “You already came once - can’t I play with you a little?”

“Hmmph,” Hux responds, his body jerking as Ben goes back to pinching at his nipples. “Is that why you really came all the way here? Just to torture me?”

“You know me so well,” Ben says, wondering if he can possibly figure out a way to fuck Hux in the bath, which is really absurdly small for two men - Ben’s leg is already starting to go numb where it’s pinned between the edge of the tub and Hux’s squirming body. He decides that sliding around too much might aggravate Hux’s injuries. And he doesn’t want to have to get out to go look for lube, anyway. He reaches for the soap instead. 

“What are you doing there?” Hux asks, wriggling impatiently between Ben’s legs.

“Just getting you cleaned up,” Ben says innocently. Hux lets out another little squeak as Ben runs his right hand down over his ass, squeezing it, then teasing at his hole with the tip of a soapy finger. “Want more?”

“Oh fuck - yes - your fingers are so _thick_ ,“ Hux pants, as Ben presses deeper into him. 

“Gotta get you nice and relaxed so I can fuck you later,” Ben says in his ear, fondling Hux’s balls with his free hand. Hux drops his head back against Ben’s shoulder, breathing hard. His back arches and his mouth opens silently as Ben simultaneously fucks him with his finger and rubs at the spot behind his balls. “You ever think about that while I was in New York? Fuck yourself with your little toys and wish it was me?”

“You know what I want,” Hux whimpers, “if it were up to me - you’d be tied to my bed all the time - spread-eagle so I could ride you whenever I like - “

“Yeah, you always did love the idea of using me like a toy,” Ben growls in his ear, both turned-on and slightly annoyed. He squeezes Hux’s cock hard with his left hand. Hux gasps and bucks his hips, trapped between Ben’s fist around his cock and Ben’s finger inside him, his body spasming. Ben bites down on his neck again and Hux jerks and curses and comes into Ben’s hand. 

“I have missed that,” Hux sighs, relaxing against Ben, twisting his neck to kiss the side of Ben’s face. 

Ben resists the urge to ask if that was all Hux missed about him. He rinses his hands off in the water and runs one over Hux’s chest, up the ladder of his ribcage; his fingers snag on the small puckered scar. “Does this still hurt?”

“No. It’s odd, isn’t it - a gunshot wound to the chest sounds so much worse than one to the leg.” Hux sighs. “But it’s healed up nicely, while my leg is still - as you’ve seen.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, kissing Hux’s freckled shoulder. Just the thought of not being able to walk makes Ben feel panicky. “I mean - I’m happy at least the one injury is okay, though.”

“Oh yes,” Hux says, “I suppose I should be grateful just to be alive - glass half-full and all that - “

“Fuck that, you don’t have to do that bullshit for me,” Ben says. “Be pissed off about it if you want, I would be too.”

Hux squeezes his hand. They sit silently in the cooling water. 

“You must be angry at me,” Hux says soberly, after a while. “When you turned up on my doorstep I half-thought you’d only come to tell me off.”

Ben’s stomach cramps; this sounds like the conversation he had been trying to avoid. “I just wanted to see you,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t even know if you were okay - I was afraid you were sick, or that your dad had you locked in the basement or something.”

“I know,” Hux says quietly. “I should have written back to you.”

“So you were getting my letters?” Ben says, suddenly furious. He takes a deep breath. “Actually - you know what, forget about it. If you were fucking someone else - or just didn’t give a shit about me - I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

“It wasn’t that,” Hux says, “any of that.” He hesitates. “At first I wasn’t getting your letters - I left the hospital without seeing any response to the card I sent you. Once I was up and about I debated going back to see if a letter from you had come and hadn’t been forwarded, but - I thought perhaps it was just as well. To make a clean break.”

“But why?” Ben’s voice cracks. 

“I’m on rather thin ice with the army at the moment, for one,” Hux says. “As you may be aware, infantry officers are supposed to be able to walk. I can barely do that at the moment - let alone run or ruck-march.”

“Yeah, but you got injured in combat,” Ben says, momentarily distracted. “And you volunteered to do all this dangerous stuff - doesn’t that count for something?”

“Not as much as one might think,” Hux says gloomily. “My promotion to captain is being held up because I haven’t commanded a platoon yet. I was meant to do that when I came back from Vietnam but I haven’t been given a platoon because of my injuries. And I’m not like you - I haven’t got a Silver Star or anything else to show for what I’ve done - I got shot on my way home from a party. For all my regiment knows, I spent my time in Vietnam drinking myself into a stupor in Saigon.”

“But that’s so unfair,” Ben says. “Can’t you - I don’t know, get the people you worked with to write to your unit or something?”

“Yes, and I’ve got letters of recommendation supporting my promotion from the defense attaché’s office and from CORDS,” Hux says, “but I don’t know how much good it will do - even in Vietnam quite a lot of your colleagues regarded the village defense forces as a bit of a joke, and it’s even more difficult to explain their importance from this distance.” He sighs. “No one here really seems to take the South Vietnamese seriously as a people who have their own aspirations for freedom and democracy. The other officers in my regiment tend to assume that the Vietnamese are incapable of governing themselves and will have to remain a sort of American colony in order to keep the Communists at bay - and of course your fellow-travelers on the left all think that Hanoi is on the side of the angels.”

“I know what you mean, actually,” Ben says, rather relieved that the conversation seems to have turned away from the subject of whatever is going on between the two of them. “I know you think I’m some kind of Communist sleeper agent or whatever, but I spent enough time getting yelled at by Rose and Mrs. Nguyen to have some idea of what the South Vietnamese are up against. I remember when the news came out about what the Communists did in Hue - the mass graves and all that - I really missed being able to talk to you and Rose. Because my mom thought it was all made-up, just anti-Communist propaganda. And the other vets that I used to work with didn’t really give a shit about Vietnamese people dying, whether they were on our side or not.”

“Yes, exactly,” Hux says morosely, “so - as you can imagine, it’s been rather difficult to convince my chain of command that I’ve done anything of value in the past two years. Or that leading a team of military advisors in the Delta ought to be considered at least the equivalent of leading a platoon here in a peacetime garrison.” He’s silent for a moment. “And then there are the, ah. More colorful rumors.”

“Oh no,” Ben says, “what rumors?”

“My father has been kind enough to inform me that the running joke in the officers’ mess is that the real reason I went to Vietnam is so that I could - “ Hux clears his throat - “buy little boys.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben explodes. “That’s so fucking stupid.”

“I know. But it’s the sort of thing that I can’t even address without making it worse.”

“That’s like the opposite of what you’re into, anyway,” Ben observes. “You like big guys who can hold you down and throw you around, not little boys.”

Hux laughs. “Yes, well,” he says, “unfortunately I can’t exactly stand up in the mess hall to announce for everyone’s awareness that I actually prefer large muscular men.”

“Maybe you should,” Ben suggests. “Just tell all these assholes to go fuck themselves. Really go out with a bang. And then come back to New York with me.” 

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not. I’m actually a hundred percent serious right now.”

“I know you are,” Hux says, with another sigh, “which is part of the reason I thought it best not to try to contact you again after I didn’t get a response to my postcard.”

“But you said you got them eventually?” Ben says, his stomach tensing painfully again.

“Yes - after you wrote to me here, I went back to the hospital and found all your letters still in the mailroom there,” Hux says in a small voice. “I read them all, I kept them. I meant to write back to you. I started to - many times.”

“I guess I just don’t understand,” Ben says unhappily. “I mean, anything you could’ve written would’ve been better than nothing. Even if it was just a note telling me to fuck off.”

“I didn’t write back because I knew you would think I was a coward.”

“Why would I think that?” Ben asks, honestly bewildered. 

Hux hunches his narrow shoulders. “Because - what I was trying to write to tell you is that I’m engaged.”

“You’re _what_?” Ben sits bolt upright. In spite of all the unhappy possibilities that he had wrestled with night after night, this particular variation had never occurred to him. “As in - you’re getting married? To who?”

“To - to a dear friend. We’re to be married in the spring.”

Ben stands up, splashing water everywhere. He steps away from Hux, backing into the cold tiled wall. “I - Hux - what the fuck? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hux says, not looking at Ben. He wraps his arms around his knees. “I don’t suppose it will quell the rumors about me entirely, but at least it will help to keep up appearances.”

“Is this that woman who’s in that picture with you, the one over the fireplace?” Ben demands. “Does she know about you?”

“Yes, of course she knows,” Hux says indignantly. “I told you she was a dear friend. And she’s, well, more or less in the same situation herself. She’s in a rather sensitive line of work - she has to keep up appearances too, especially since that affair with the Cambridge Five.”

Ben doesn’t know who the Cambridge Five are, but it doesn’t seem especially important at the moment. He turns away from Hux, putting his hands carefully on the wall, trying not to punch anything. “So the two of you are going to - what? Just live together like roommates forever and never be happy, all so you can get the assholes at your jobs off your backs?”

“That’s a rather dire version of things,” Hux says, sounding calmer now. “Both of us will still be able to do whatever we like, of course, and I’m certain that Phasma at least will continue to enjoy herself. She travels a great deal for work - seems to have a girl in every port, or so I hear.”

“Yeah? And what about you?” 

“I would have done the same,” Hux says, sounding miserable again, “that was always the plan - but then you came along and complicated matters.”

“Wait,” Ben says furiously, turning sharply to look at Hux again as the implications of this sentence break over him, “ _that was always the plan?_ What the fuck? Have you been engaged this whole time?”

“Yes, I have,” Hux says, looking up and cringing against the side of the tub as if he expects Ben to hit him. Ben realizes that his hands are clenched into fists, and he forces himself to unclench them. “I know I should have told you - but it all seemed rather hypothetical - “

“I guess I should’ve listened all the times when you told me you didn’t give a shit about me,” Ben snarls. “What was it you called me - ‘a pleasant diversion’?”

Hux puts his face in his hands. “And - it’s no excuse - but I never really meant to come back from Vietnam - “

Ben sinks down on the bathmat next to the tub and puts his hand on Hux’s wet, goose-pimpled back, his anger briefly quenched. “Hux,” he says urgently, “babe. I did kind of worry that you were just planning to stay there until something awful happened to you. But hey, you made it back - you’re safe - we’re together - and you don’t have to do this.”

“I rather think I do,” Hux says firmly, not meeting Ben’s eyes.

“You really don’t, though,” Ben says, exasperated again. “Who knows, maybe your dad’s just fucking with you. Maybe no one’s actually saying anything bad about you. And even if they are - fuck ‘em, who cares? You could do anything with your life - teach, write, go back to school. Fuck, you could go work in a bank like your old boyfriend from school - make a bunch of money and tell all these assholes to go to hell. You don’t need them.”

Hux’s lips twitch. “The skillset I’ve acquired as an infantry officer isn’t likely to be very useful in business,” he observes. “I don’t believe there’s much call for counterinsurgency expertise in the banking industry.”

Ben thinks briefly of one of the other security guards he had worked with at the Fillmore - Michlewicz, a big blond kid from Indiana who had been a helicopter door gunner in Vietnam. “I got to be pretty good at it,” Michlewicz had said once, mildly. “But when I told the temp agency in Midtown that that was my work experience they just laughed at me. The guy said he’d call me if anything opened up with the mob.”

“Look, I get it, I know it’s fucking awful trying to find a job after you get out,” Ben says to Hux, squeezing his arm, “but you’re not like me. You were a good student. You went to college. You’re not going to be washing dishes.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Hux says, “but I’m also never going to be able to do the work that I’m meant to do if I leave the army. I know you couldn’t wait to get out of Vietnam but I loved it there, I did, especially last fall with my team. It was what I’ve always wanted to do. I have to try to hold onto it.”

Ben is tempted to point out that, whether he stays in the army or not, Hux’s injuries are likely to prevent him from ever being able to operate in a combat zone again, but that seems unnecessarily cruel - and besides, Ben isn’t a doctor; maybe Hux’s leg still has a chance of healing fully. Instead he says, “But where does that leave us?”

Hux holds up his hands, palms towards the ceiling. “I know you don’t want the sort of arrangement that I could possibly offer you.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Ben asks suspiciously. Hux shrugs. “You mean, like, I come over once in a while and fuck you when your wife’s out of town? And then I guess I’m supposed to fuck off and leave you alone the rest of the time?”

Hux winces. “It doesn’t have to be quite so distant as that,” he says. “If you stay in London you could come to visit whenever you like; Phasma certainly won’t care. You could even move in, possibly, if we could think of a suitable cover story, but we would have to be discreet - “

“Hux, I’m not going to live in your basement and - and pretend to be the fucking gardener or whatever the fuck.”

“I know that!” Hux says shrilly. “This is why I didn’t write to you. I knew you wouldn’t want anything I could offer you and I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell you to fuck off, as you put it.”

Ben laughs suddenly, feeling rather hysterical. “‘I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell you to fuck off’ - I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that that’s how you finally tell me that I actually mean something to you.”

“Yes, well,” Hux says, hugging his knees, “this has been a surprising evening for everyone, I suppose. To think I was about to turn in early with a book when you rang the bell.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ben says, standing up and looking for a towel. “I’ll get out of here and let you do that, I guess. I obviously shouldn’t have come.”

“Where are you going?” Hux asks, sounding alarmed. “Have you got a hotel room?”

“No - but I don’t know - I’ll figure something out - “ Ben feels suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted. He wants more than anything to just crawl into a dark hole and stay there for a long time, maybe forever.

“Listen to the rain outside,” Hux says, trying to stand up. Ben reaches out automatically to help him. “It’s an awful night to be out. At least stay until morning. I’ll make up the couch for you, if you prefer that.” He jerks away from Ben’s hands and reaches for his cane. “Towels are in that cupboard.”

Later, once he’s dry and changed, Ben sits gingerly on the couch, which looks and feels to him more like an object in an exhibit of modern art than a functional piece of furniture. It occurs to him belatedly that he had never actually washed his hair or soaped himself up; Hux must be in an especially distressed frame of mind, he thinks, to let Ben get away with remaining mostly unwashed. After their bath Hux had thumped off into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Now he’s in the kitchen, rattling things on the countertop.

Presently Hux emerges, holding a plate with a thin sandwich on it. “Here,” he says sternly, thrusting it at Ben. “Eat.”

“Hux - “

“For once don’t argue with me,” Hux says, and Ben takes the sandwich from him and bites into it obediently. It’s some sort of fish, on soft white bread with the crusts cut off, as if Ben were a small child. “I’ll be back in a moment with tea.”

“I’ll get it,” Ben says. “Just sit down.”

“I’m perfectly capable of fetching tea in my own home, thank you,” Hux says icily, thumping off again. He returns with a single cup of tea.

“You’re not having any?” Ben asks.

“No, I’m off to bed. I’m very tired.”

Ben strokes Hux’s wrist lightly with his thumb as he takes the cup. “Just sit with me for a little bit?”

“I don’t see why you’d want that,” Hux says, but he sits down on the far end of the couch anyway. He looks mistrustfully at Ben. 

“So, Phasma, huh,” Ben says, gesturing to the photograph over the fireplace. Phasma has a stylish blond pixie cut and her shoulders and arms are remarkably muscular - _better definition than me_ , Ben thinks. _I need to stop slacking off_. “That’s her, right? What does she do, anyway? ‘A sensitive line of work’ - is she, like, some kind of female James Bond or something?”

“Of course I wouldn’t be able to tell you if she were,” Hux says, looking pointedly at Ben as he lights a cigarette, “and besides, those films are very ridiculous.”

“That means yes!” Ben says, gleefully. “So she _is_ a spy! That’s so cool.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Hux glares at him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to kill me - who would I tell?” Ben says. “Anyway, I guess if you’re going to throw me over for someone, it might as well be James Bond. I’d probably pick James Bond over me too.”

“I’m not throwing you over. You just don’t want what I’m in a position to offer.”

“Doesn’t that kind of work out to the same thing?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Ben swallows the last mouthful of his rather dry sandwich and washes it down with tea. The tea has a faint bitter aftertaste that lingers in his mouth. He looks around. “So do you have another bedroom hidden somewhere? Or do you and Phasma have to share a bed too - to ‘keep up appearances’?”

“Phasma and I will be house-hunting this winter, once she comes back from her trip - this is only a rented flat,” Hux says, his mouth set in a thin line. “And it isn’t any of your concern, but we most certainly will not be sharing a bed.”

“Oh,” Ben says, rather deflated. The cosy domesticity of Hux house-hunting with his future wife cuts sharply through him. He sets his empty plate and cup down on the floor and, suddenly giving in to impulse, he lies down on the couch and puts his head in Hux’s lap. 

Hux twitches, startled, but doesn’t push him away. “What are you up to now?” he asks warily.

“I just miss you, that’s all,” Ben says, clutching at Hux’s uninjured leg. “I guess I’m going to go on missing you.”

“Well,” Hux says stiffly, “that’s entirely your decision to make.”

“No it isn’t,” Ben says, “not really.” He presses his face into the soft wool of Hux’s bathrobe, listening to him breathe. After what seems like a long time, Hux slides a hand into his hair and begins to stroke it gently. Ben sniffles. “You know, I used to imagine you doing that? When I couldn’t sleep, or my head hurt.”

Hux is quiet. His fingers are cool on Ben’s temples. Ben squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to cry. A few tears leak out anyway, soaking into Hux’s robe. His throat feels raw.

“I was going to bring you a blanket and pillow,” Hux says eventually, “but you don’t have to sleep out here if you’d rather - “

“I’d rather sleep with you,” Ben says immediately. 

“All right, go on then,” Hux says, sounding pleased. He leans forward to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray on the TV stand, and shoves Ben gently in the direction of his bedroom door. Ben stands up and holds out his hand. Hux looks at it, then takes it, allowing himself to be helped up. 

Hux’s bedroom looks much more lived-in than his front room. The overstuffed bookcase and crowded desk that Ben had expected are here, along with a narrow bed and a framed South Vietnamese flag on the wall. It reminds Ben pleasantly of Hux’s room at Lai Khe. He has a fleeting sense of having finally come home. 

In spite of his exhaustion, it takes Ben a long time to fall asleep. With Hux pressed to his chest, breathing softly against him, it’s easy to think _I need this, I can’t give this up, I could keep this, I could just stay_... But then he imagines hovering in the background while Hux and Phasma are looking for a home, planning their wedding, picking out china patterns - or whatever it is that respectable engaged people do; Ben has never given it much thought before - and he wants to run. Besides, he reminds himself, Hux is certain to kick him out, probably sooner rather than later. If Hux is willing to go so far as to marry a woman in order to keep up appearances, then surely he isn’t about to invite Ben to live with him in his one-bedroom apartment.

At some point in the night Ben wakes up, sweating, his legs tangled with Hux’s. Hux is moving softly against him, muttering in his sleep, his face hot against Ben’s shoulder. They’re both half-hard. Ben kisses Hux’s forehead, and Hux opens his eyes. He rolls over, rubbing his round little ass back against Ben’s cock through his thin cotton pajamas, making little noises in his throat. Ben groans. 

“In the nightstand,” Hux says, and Ben fumbles to find the tube of lube in the dark. He squeezes some onto his fingers. It’s not the Vaseline they used in Vietnam - it’s something nicer, more slippery, with a faint sweet smell. 

“Got the good stuff, huh?” Ben says, yanking Hux’s pajama bottoms down below his hips with his clean left hand. “Just for your personal time - or for - “

“Shut up and fuck me,” Hux pants, bumping his ass back against Ben. Ben obligingly presses his slippery fingers into Hux, reveling in the way Hux’s body jerks when Ben finds the right spot, the choked-off sounds Hux lets out as he massages it slowly. “Now - _please_ \- “

The _please_ undoes Ben, the high desperate sound of Hux’s voice, and he groans from deep in his chest as he pushes his cock into Hux. He rocks his hips slowly at first, kissing the back of Hux’s neck lingeringly, open-mouthed, trying to last. Somewhere just under the pleasure is the thought that this might be the last time.

“Stop treating me like a porcelain doll,” Hux gasps, “harder - _do_ it - I won’t break - “

 _I wish you’d let me be gentle with you for once_ , Ben thinks, but he pulls Hux up onto his hands and knees, pulls almost all the way out, and then slams into him. “Yeah? Like that? Is that what you want?”

“ _Yes_ \- fuck - it’s so good,” Hux moans, “do it again - “

Ben thrusts into him as hard as he can, over and over, his fingers digging into Hux’s sharp hipbones. Hux is crying out underneath him, arching his back and spreading his legs, pushing back enthusiastically against him. Ben feels oddly distant from the proceedings, not quite in his own body, as if he’s already gone. 

Afterwards, as they lie collapsed together, Ben hears - or thinks he hears - Hux’s voice say softly, “I do love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” he says, lifting his head eagerly towards Hux, and waking himself up fully as he does so. Hux doesn’t say anything else; he seems to be asleep. Ben puts his head back down, wondering if he only had dreamed it.

In the morning, after a rather silent breakfast of toast and black coffee, Ben stuffs his dirty clothes into his duffel bag and picks up his guitar case. Hux watches him, sucking anxiously on a cigarette. 

“Well,” Ben says, finally, “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Where are you going to go?”

Ben shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to see London. Guess I’ll go do that.”

They look at each other. _Tell me you love me, tell me to stay_ , Ben thinks. _I will, even if I have to be the gardener._ Instead, Hux says, “Do you need money?”

Ben scowls. “Probably, but I’m not taking yours.”

“Have it your way, then,” Hux says, looking rather hurt. “Will you send me a note when you get settled?”

“You going to answer if I do?” Ben cocks his chin at Hux. 

“I suppose I deserved that,” Hux says. “I will this time, I promise.”

“All right, then,” Ben says, trying to sound casual, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. He wants, achingly, to kiss Hux, but he’s afraid that if he does he won’t be able to walk out the door. He opts instead for a two-fingered salute that makes him feel awkwardly like his father. “See you around, maybe.”

“Maybe, yes,” Hux says - wistfully, perhaps, or it might just be Ben’s imagination. “Take care.” He doesn’t move as Ben opens the door and steps out into the pale autumn sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Homophobia: Hux tells Ben that there are rumors in his unit that Hux actually went to Vietnam so that he could “buy little boys.” Separately, Ben learns that Hux is planning to marry Phasma (who is a lesbian) so that they can both remain closeted at work. I didn’t tag this fic as Hux/Phasma because they’re actually just friends and their relationship is not in any way romantic or sexual. 
> 
> \- Referenced Suicidal Thoughts: Hux tells Ben that he never really meant to come back from Vietnam; Ben interprets this statement as meaning that he planned to stay until he was killed in combat. I wasn’t sure how best to tag this but didn’t want readers to be blindsided. 
> 
> \- Referenced injuries/combat violence: no new violence, but there are descriptions of their scars from the injuries they incurred in previous chapters. Also, they briefly discuss the atrocities that happened in Hue, but no graphic details. 
> 
> \- Racism: they briefly discuss the reductive ways that Westerners on both sides of the political spectrum tended to view the Vietnam War at the time (racist and colonialist on the right, uncritically supportive of the Communists on the left). Some of this is drawn from Marcelino Truong’s excellent graphic-novel memoir “Saigon Calling,” which I highly recommend. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me through all this angst! I promise there will be a happy ending eventually.


	13. Chapter 13

_April 1969_

“Hello stranger,” Ben calls, picking his way through the crowd towards the slender figure he had half-thought he’d imagined leaning against the back wall. As the lights came up after the show, Ben’s heart had thumped painfully at the sight of a sleek red head that stood out vividly against the club’s poisonously green walls. “Long time no see - what brings you here?”

“You invited me,” Hux says, peering at Ben over the upturned collar of his khaki trench coat. He looks sharp and elegant and entirely out of place amidst the glitter of the flamboyant late-night crowd, like a secret agent attempting to meet a contact at a Velvet Underground concert. “Or so I assume - it seems like a surprising coincidence that a Soho club promoter would bother to take the train all the way out to Aldershot, just to slip a single flyer under my door for a band called the ‘Knights of Ren.’”

Ben grins sheepishly, sliding a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, that might’ve been me,” he says. “Didn’t really think you’d show, to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Hux says drily. “I see you’ve gone electric - don’t your sort of people regard that as a form of selling out?”

Ben laughs. “Even Dylan’s been plugged-in since ‘65.” He steps closer to Hux. “Don’t worry, I didn’t sell the guitar you gave me - I’d never give it up. It’s a beautiful instrument. But it’s got such a delicate sound - honestly, I can’t even hear the high notes anymore without an amp, not since Hue. We wanted something rougher.” 

“So I gathered,” Hux says, looking at Ben rather provocatively. “I do like the all-black leather look - it suits you. Are those masks you were wearing from a fetish shop?”

“Yeah, from just down the street - that was my idea,” Ben says proudly. “We all bought them and customized them. I painted those silver lines on mine myself. I wanted it to look like a stylized skull, you know? Gives us kind of a cool, different look. And it keeps assholes from asking why my face is so fucked-up - the leather hood fucks with my hair, through.” _I’m talking too much,_ Ben thinks. “So, uh - thanks for coming out to see us! What’d you think of the show?”

“It was interesting,” Hux says. “Not especially my sort of music - “

“Too much screaming and feedback?” Ben asks, a bit crestfallen. He hadn’t really expected Hux to like their music, but - 

“ - but I will say I was entertained,” Hux says, looking up at Ben from under his golden eyelashes. “The bit where you pretended to give your bandmate a blowjob was especially memorable.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben says, flushing. “I wasn’t, you know, trying to make you jealous or whatever. We just always do that, it’s like our signature thing now. Gets a big reaction from the crowd.”

“It _was_ rather impressive,” Hux says. “Especially since you were able to go on playing his guitar with your teeth while you were crawling backwards and he was straddling your face. Where does one even learn to do such a thing?”

“Oh, well, you know, just messing around,” Ben says, feeling that perhaps he should change the subject. “So how’ve you been?” He looks at Hux’s left hand, which is resting on the head of his cane; he isn’t wearing a ring. “How’s, uh, Phasma doing? When’s the big day? Or did it happen already?”

“We’ve called it off,” Hux says, in a tone that doesn’t invite questions. 

“Oh,” Ben says, trying not to sound too excited about this news. “Sorry to hear that, I guess. Hope you’re not too heartbroken.” Hux rolls his eyes. “Can I ask what happened?”

Hux glances around. “Walk me to the station?”

“I should probably help the guys pack up - well, hang on.” He turns towards the stage. “Hey, Ren! Can you grab my stuff? Meet you back at the house?” Ren squints in his direction, then looks amused when he sees who Ben is talking to. He gives Ben a thumbs-up and picks up Ben’s guitar. “Thanks!”

“So, if I have this right,” Hux says, as he maneuvers his way carefully down the narrow stairway to the street - Ben wants to help him, but doesn’t want to be shouted at - “you’re ‘Kylo Ren,’ your band is the Knights of Ren, and your bandmate is also named Ren? And you all wear matching leather fetish gear - have you started a band or a sex cult?”

Ben laughs. “Can’t it be both?” he asks. They step out into the neon-lit night together. It’s a cool spring evening; the breeze smells faintly of garbage and cigarette smoke, but it feels good on his face after playing an hourlong set under hot stage lights in a leather mask. “Anyway, I didn’t start it - they were already a band before I came along, but they were just calling themselves the Knights then. They were looking to switch it up a little. So I explained to them where ‘Ren’ came from - it’s Chinese, it means like humanity and compassion, it’s from Confucius - and they liked that.”

“Ah,” Hux says. “I must say, I wouldn’t have looked at your bandmates and thought ‘devoted adherents of Chinese classical philosophy,’ but I suppose I may have misjudged them.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how much they really care about Confucius, but I was into it for a while in high school. My mom’s books, you know.”

“Your powers of persuasion are remarkable, in that case,” Hux says, “especially since your shirtless friend there with the scars on his chest has apparently adopted it as his given name.”

“Well, we were all pretty high when we talked about it,” Ben says, somewhat uncomfortably - he figures Hux probably doesn’t really want to know what he’s been doing with Ren for the past several months - “and I think Ren was looking for something new. All the guys have given themselves stage names, but he hadn’t really settled on anything - he was calling himself ‘Prime’ when I first showed up. His real name is Gary.”

“I can see why he wanted something more intriguing and mysterious,” Hux says, sounding amused. “Out of curiosity, where does ‘Kylo’ come from? Is that also a philosophical reference?”

“No, I just thought it sounded cool when I was fifteen,” Ben says. He elbows Hux gently. “Anyway, enough about me - so what’s happening with your wedding getting called off?”

“It was partly because of Phasma’s work,” Hux says. “She started to hear comments from her agency - ‘of course you’ll be cutting back once you’re married,’ and ‘naturally you won’t want to travel so much once you have a husband to look after,’ and that sort of thing. It was making her nervous. So she backed out.”

“Got it,” Ben says, rather bleakly. _So much for me thinking it might’ve been because you decided to choose me_ , he thinks. _Guess I’m just as fucking stupid as ever._ “You must pretty disappointed, huh?”

“It is rather sad,” Hux says, “after all Phasma would have been an excellent partner - she understands me, and I can be honest with her.” Ben clenches his jaw. “But no matter - perhaps it’s for the best. At any rate, your sex cult is far more interesting than my cancelled wedding.” Hux looks slyly sideways at him. “I want to hear more about that - much more. Unless you were joking about that aspect of the situation?”

“Uh, kind of. Not entirely.” 

“I see,” Hux says, with great interest. “So are you _all_ sleeping together? Or is it only you and that Ren fellow? And does he ever wear a shirt?”

Ben laughs, a little uncomfortably. “We all just do whatever we want, you know? Together, or separately, or whatever. That’s kind of the point of the Knights.” 

“Is it, now.”

“Yeah. And, yeah, Ren’s pretty dedicated to not wearing a shirt.”

“What does he do in winter?” Hux asks, curiously.

“He wears a jacket and just unzips it when we’re indoors,” Ben says. “He likes to show off those scars - I’ve heard like five different stories about how he got them, but he’s proud of them, whatever they are.” Ben pauses. “I’m not quite there with mine, but I think it’s cool.”

“Ah - something for you two to bond over, I suppose?” Hux sounds a bit wistful, and Ben feels immediately guilty. He reminds himself that he doesn’t owe Hux anything.

“Kind of, but it’s nothing serious - like I said, we just do whatever we want. Makes it tough to figure out who’s supposed to clean the kitchen or the bathroom, though, let me tell you.” Ben peers sidelong at Hux. “I mean - do you really want to hear about this? I honestly wasn’t trying to rub anything in your face by inviting you out to see us tonight.” He gives in to impulse and touches Hux’s hand. “I just miss you, you know?”

Somewhat to Ben’s surprise, Hux takes his hand for a moment and squeezes it. “If I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t ask,” he says brightly. “I was really quite worried about what would become of you when you left my flat in October. Obviously I underestimated you - perhaps I should have known you’d be a rock star with his own harem of intimidating masked men within six months.” 

_I love you_ , Ben thinks. He manages not to say it. “Well, it’s not really a harem, or at least it’s not my harem,” he says, “it’s pretty egalitarian. And it’s not really a cult - it’s not like we’re all literally worshiping each other’s dicks or anything like that.”

“Pity,” Hux says. He strokes the inside of Ben’s wrist lightly with his thumb, and Ben shivers. Hux’s green eyes are hot when he looks at Ben. “How does it work, then? Is there a rotational schedule? Is one of you designated to service the others on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then you switch off?”

Ben laughs. “You’re really into this idea, huh? You want to join in?” 

Hux bites into his full lower lip. “Why, are you offering?”

Ben feels a familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety as he briefly pictures his bandmates taking turns with Hux. “I mean, I’m sure the guys would be into it,” he says. “Except maybe Ap’lek - I think he might actually be straight and in denial. He seems to think that fucking men is some kind of cool counter-cultural statement, but I feel like his heart’s not really in it.”

Hux laughs, hard. “The past six months have certainly been very different for you than for me.”

“Yeah,” Ben says. He nudges Hux gently. “Maybe we should talk about that, yeah? Before we start organizing an orgy?”

“If you insist,” Hux says, looking suddenly rather defeated; the flirtatious tone is gone from his voice. 

“I mean, of course I want to know what’s been going on with you,” Ben says. “You look like you’re walking more easily, that’s something.” Hux still has an obvious limp, but he no longer looks as if every step is painful for him; his cane is different, too, less obviously a medical device. It looks almost like a fashionable accessory to his elegant coat. 

“It’s healed up a bit,” Hux says gloomily, “but not enough to allow me to stay in the army - or at least not enough to allow me to do anything I actually care to do.” 

“Oh yeah?” Ben says, rather too eagerly. “I mean, sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” Hux asks. Ben doesn’t respond. “They did eventually sign off on my promotion to captain, so I have that, at least.” 

“Oh hey, nice,” Ben says. “Congratulations!” He nudges Hux. “Should I start calling you ‘captain’ then? Sounds kind of hot.”

“If you like,” Hux says, looking pleased for a moment, before he goes on. “They would have let me stay on as a quartermaster or an adjutant, but I wasn’t keen to spend my life counting out pallets of ammunition or shuffling papers about. Especially considering - well, considering what I would have to give up.” He sighs. Ben bites his lip to stop himself from asking what, exactly, Hux would be so distressed about having to give up. “And they wouldn’t even consider my application to become an attaché, even though I have all the skills and connections to make myself useful at an embassy in Southeast Asia.”

“That does seem like bullshit,” Ben agrees. “Don’t people at embassies mainly write reports and go to cocktail parties? Why won’t they let you do that?”

“Well, I’m rather too junior to be an attaché, for one, but I think it’s mainly the look of the thing,” Hux says morosely. “I suppose it would be rather on-the-nose to have a cripple representing the post-imperial British Army on the diplomatic circuit.”

“You’re not a cripple,” Ben says indignantly, “and anyway you were wounded in combat - they should be proud to have someone like you representing them.”

“You’re very sweet,” Hux says, squeezing his hand again. They’re very nearly holding hands as they walk down the quiet street, and Ben feels a kind of tearing inside him, as if everything he’s ever wanted is being dangled in front of him. Hux lets go of his hand and laughs a little. “Odd, isn’t it - I always imagined it would be my cock that would get me turfed out, but instead it’s my bloody leg.”

Ben puts his arm around Hux’s shoulders, and Hux doesn’t pull away. “Hey, well, if you need a place to stay while you’re figuring things out, I’ve already got six roommates. We could probably squeeze in one more.” _I haven’t seen him in six months and now I’m asking him to move in with me_ , Ben thinks. _Why can’t I ever act like a normal human being around him?_

Hux looks up at him. “Don’t make offers that you don’t mean.”

“When have I ever done that?” Ben asks. He tries for a light tone. “Besides, we could use your help. Maybe you could use your captain skills to get Trudgen to actually clean up after himself once in a while.”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “One of your bandmates voluntarily calls himself ‘Trudgen’?”

“Yeah,” Ben says. “Don’t look at me, that one wasn’t my idea. He thinks it sounds like a weapon from outer space.”

“Does he mean a truncheon?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I was just like, hey man, you do your thing.” Ben looks at Hux’s expression and laughs. “Let me guess, you like the idea of getting fucked by a bunch of guys in leather, but the idea of fighting about housework with a guy who calls himself ‘Trudgen’ sounds less fun?”

“Admittedly,” Hux says, “my longtime fantasy about being taken prisoner by a group of muscular men never included many details about who would do the washing-up.”

Ben shakes his head, grinning. “You know, I’ve thought a lot about you over the past six months,” he says, “and I’ve thought about a lot of things I wanted to say to you, but this is definitely not the conversation I was expecting to have.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it,” Hux says tartly. He lowers his voice. “You love fantasizing about watching me with other men. Especially because you know in the end it’s all a performance for you, because you know I want you more than I want anyone.”

Ben feels dizzy suddenly, overwhelmed. _I’m such a sucker,_ he thinks. _Why do I fall for him every time?_ “Do I know that?” he asks, putting his lips close to Hux’s ear. 

Hux shivers. “If you don’t then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.” They’ve arrived at the Piccadilly Circus station; Ben looks up at the sign for the Bakerloo line, then back at Hux. “Coming with me? Or do you need to get home to your harem?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine without me for one night,” Ben says, thinking, _Well, here we go again._

“So tell me,” Hux says innocently, as they stand on the platform, “how did you meet this troupe of masked men? Did you answer an advertisement in the paper for ‘muscular, musical leather enthusiasts seek same’?”

Ben laughs. “No. Actually Ren picked me up in that park near your house. The day I left your place.”

Hux raises his eyebrows. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“I didn’t go there looking for anything like that,” Ben protests. “I just wanted to sit somewhere and clear my head while I figured out what to do next. So I went and sat in the park and played my guitar for a while and looked at the fall leaves. A couple of people gave me money - it was nice. Then a cop told me to move along.”

“So what did you do?”

 _I almost went back to your place to see if you’d take me back,_ , Ben thinks. “I was walking out to the main road, feeling mad about everything, and this really big guy on a motorcycle asked me if I needed a ride into town. I said yes. He asked me where I was going, and I told him I didn’t know. So he asked if I wanted to come home with him.”

“I see,” says Hux, as the train arrives. “And what did you two do then?”

Ben flushes. “What do you think we did? He took me back to his place and fucked me. Happy now?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me,” Hux says as they sit down. He sounds rather hurt. “I just enjoy hearing about your adventures. I haven’t had many of my own lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Ben says, lowering his voice as a group of very drunk girls staggers past them, “I don’t mind telling you whatever you want to hear - but it just seems weird to me that this doesn’t bother you. I’d freak out if you started telling me about all the guys you’ve slept with since I last saw you. I guess obviously you don’t feel the same way.”

“Oh, I see,” Hux says, shifting his weight so that his thigh presses against Ben’s, “you think that if I cared about you, I’d be jealous - is that it?”

“Something like that,” Ben admits. “Like I said, I’m not trying to make you jealous - but - “

“But you’d prefer it if I were?” Hux laughs. “Don’t fret. I just enjoy the - mental image.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben murmurs in Hux’s ear. “You like imagining me on my hands and knees, getting fucked by a big cock until I come all over myself?”

Hux squirms happily. “Yes, exactly,” he says huskily. “I take it you enjoyed yourself, then?”

“I did,” Ben says. “I mean, yeah, it was fun. Hot.” He pauses, dropping the seductive tone. “Honestly, though, I was still feeling pretty raw about what had happened with you - and I was a little sad that my first time doing that was with this random stranger. All my other firsts were with you.”

Hux nestles closer to him. “I know,” he says softly. “I am sorry - about, well, all of it.” Ben opens his mouth to say something, before Hux goes on hastily. “But topping isn’t particularly my preference in any case - I’d much rather watch him fuck you than do it myself.” He pauses. “Although I was rather surprised by Ren’s looks; I would have thought he was more my type than yours. Or have you always actually preferred such big men?”

“No,” Ben says. “But he’s an asshole who gets off on ordering me around, same as you. Apparently that’s my type.”

Hux laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” Ben says. “And thanks for letting me know Ren’s your type. You want him to be first in line for your orgy fantasy?”

“I wouldn’t object,” Hux says serenely. “In any case, you can hardly blame me for being distracted by you and your bandmates - I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“Wait, really?” Ben says, startled. “Because you didn’t feel like it - or - “

Hux shrugs, looking away from Ben. “Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want anyone else?”

Ben blinks, rather stunned. “Well, you did just spend the last half hour telling me how much you want to fuck the other guys in my band.” Then he bites down on the inside of his cheek, thinking, _What the fuck is wrong with me, he finally told me what I’ve been waiting to hear and I’m arguing with him about it?_

Hux rolls his eyes. “That’s only a fantasy,” he says in a low voice, “and even in the fantasy I really only want to be with you.”

Ben wraps his arms around Hux’s narrow shoulders and squeezes him tightly. An elderly man sitting some distance away in a grey flannel suit peers at them suspiciously, then hastily looks away when Ben glares back at him. “Hux, babe,” he says softly, “you know - if you’d said something like that six months ago, I never would’ve left. Or if you’d written that to me in New York, I would’ve been on the next flight out here.”

“Yes, well,” Hux says into Ben’s hair, “I’ve had some time to think things through since then. Actually it seems we’ve both been through quite a few important life-changing experiences since we last saw each other. You became a rock star and shagged a lot of large men in leather pants; I lost everything I’ve ever worked for.”

Ben laughs; it’s almost a sob. “You know,” he suggests, “that would’ve sounded a lot more romantic if you said something like, ‘Once I lost everything, I could finally see what was really important to me,’ or something like that.”

“Do I look like an inspirational pillowcase to you?” Hux demands. “I apologize if I’m insufficiently cheerful about the loss of my life’s work. Also, you’re crushing me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ben says, loosening his grip. “I really wish there was a way for you to keep doing what you want to do, you know? Just without the part where you have to go far away and get shot at. And, you know, the part where you have to marry a woman.”

“It is something of a relief that I no longer have to put quite so much effort into pretending to be respectable,” Hux admits.

“You mean like how we’re on public transport and you’re letting a ‘large man in leather pants’ hold you?”

“Yes, that,” Hux says, wriggling uncomfortably, “although perhaps now that we’ve had our sentimental moment you should stop that. I’ve already been tossed out of the army but I still don’t fancy being beaten up.” 

“Who’s going to beat you up, that old guy in the suit or those girls in miniskirts at the end of the car?” Ben demands, but he lets go. The elderly man glances up at them again, rather nervously this time. “I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who looks at you wrong. And what if I want to have another sentimental moment?”

“Perhaps it can wait until we get home,” Hux suggests. “Speaking of which, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Oh no,” Ben says warily, “what now?”

“Well,” Hux says, sitting up straighter in his chair, “I just got word that I’ve been offered a spot in the doctoral program at the King’s College Department of War Studies.”

“Holy shit, that’s great!” Ben says, relieved. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Hux says, looking pleased. “I’ve been putting my notes in order for the book I want to write about Vietnam, and I think this program will allow me to deepen my research into the tactics of Communist insurgents.”

“That sounds perfect for you,” Ben says happily. “You can yell at people about counterinsurgency all day and still get to suck dick in your spare time.”

Hux laughs. “Yes, something like that,” he says. “In some ways this may actually be for the best - I’ll be freer to criticize our allies in your government now that I’m no longer in uniform.” 

“Cool,” Ben says. “Give ‘em hell.” He eyes Hux. “So, uh. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

Hux clears his throat. “Well - the campus is in London proper, and when I move into the city I’ll want a roommate.” He looks at Ben significantly.

“Just a roommate?” Ben cocks his head at Hux. “You got anyone special in mind?”

Hux makes a face. “I suppose you mean to make me say it.”

“Say what?” Ben looks at him innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hux says, looking up at the ceiling. “Shall I get down on one knee to beg you to come back to me? God knows I’ve spent plenty of time on my knees for you already; I might as well.” He moves as if he’s really about to kneel on the dirty floor. Ben grabs his arm.

“Don’t hurt your leg,” Ben protests. “Or mess up your beautiful coat. I’m just saying - I already have six roommates. That’s probably enough roommates for me.” 

“Oh very well,” Hux says impatiently, “what should I say then? Shall I specify that I want you to move in with me to be my _lover_?” Ben laughs. “That makes me feel like someone in a bad French film. Or perhaps you would prefer ‘partner’?”

“Ugh, no, that sounds like we’re investing in one of my dad’s shady get-rich-quick schemes together,” Ben says. “How about ‘boyfriend’?”

“I suppose I could do with that,” Hux says, sounding rather pained. Ben waits. “Fine. Would you like to move in with me and be my - my boyfriend?”

Ben laughs. “You say that word like it’s a dead rat you’re holding by the tail,” he says. “But it’s a start.”

“Indeed,” Hux says. He looks at Ben rather beseechingly. “So - will you, then?”

Ben puts his arms around Hux again. “Sorry, I think we need to have another ‘sentimental moment,’” he says, pressing his face into Hux’s stiffly-gelled hair, “even though we’ve already used up our quota for the evening. And I’d love to move in with you. As your boyfriend.”

“Oh good,” Hux says, sounding relieved. “I - I have missed you awfully, you know.”

“I missed you too,” Ben says, glancing around before dropping a quick kiss on the side of Hux’s neck. The old man in the suit is still staring fixedly at the floor. Hux is nestling against his chest as if he never means to be anywhere else, as if they could go anywhere, do anything together. The feeling of it flows warmly through Ben, filling the hollow ache that’s been at the center of him since Hux was taken away from him in Japan. “Everything - just, you know, lying there at night - I wanted to hold you all the time.” He swallows hard. “Plus, I mean, these last few months have been a lot of fun in some ways, but it’ll be pretty great not to have to listen to at least three guys snoring and bumping around when I’m trying to sleep off one of my headaches.”

“Oh yes,” Hux says, “I imagine it will be. You’re more than welcome to have them round whenever you like, of course.”

“More than welcome, huh?” Ben says, smirking. “I’ll just send them a note and ask them to pop over for a spot of tea and a group shag, shall I?”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “I can’t quite make out if that was meant to be an English accent or something else,” he says, “it sounded possibly Bulgarian - but that might be rather fun.” 

“I see how it is,” Ben says, half-jokingly. “So was this all just a ploy to get your tea-and-prison-orgy fantasy to come true?”

“Partly,” Hux says, “and then there’s also the bit where I’m absurdly in love with you.” Ben lets out a choked little sound. “Which may explain how you’ve distracted me so thoroughly that we’ve missed our transfer - we’re halfway to Harrow already.”

“That’s okay,” Ben says, clutching Hux tightly. “I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go.”

“But I don’t actually want to go to Harrow.”

“Shhh,” Ben says, looking around the nearly-empty car. “Just go with the flow for once.” The girls in miniskirts are long gone and the old man in the suit looks as if he has already been shocked so thoroughly that nothing could possibly shock him further. Ben thinks, _Fuck it, I’m going for it,_ and pulls Hux in for a kiss. Hux makes a startled sound against his lips. Ben braces himself to be pushed away, but instead Hux winds his hands into Ben’s hair and clutches him close. His soft mouth opens for Ben’s tongue as the train rattles on into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: ableist language (Hux refers to himself disparagingly as a cripple) and one very brief reference to drugs. Also, Hux and Ben discuss Ben’s sexual activities with the KoR at some length, although not in great detail. 
> 
> Other notes: Ben’s stunt with the guitar blowjob is stolen from Velvet Goldmine, which stole it from David Bowie. I also picture the KoR’s music as being rather like Curt Wild’s performance of “T.V. Eye” in the same movie. Highly recommend Velvet Goldmine to all my Kylux peoples!


	14. Chapter 14

_Epilogue: October 2003_

“Benjamin!” Hux says excitedly, padding into their bedroom in his slippers. “You’ll never guess who it was on the phone!”

Ben squints sleepily at him. “Someone who doesn’t understand time zones, apparently,” he mutters, glancing at the pale pre-dawn light coming in through the window. “What did they want?”

“That was the Pentagon!” Hux says. His face is flushed pink. “A colonel on the plans team for Afghanistan says they’ve all been reading my book since the Taliban began regrouping. He says it’s been very enlightening. They want to fly me out to Washington to advise them!”

Ben shakes his head, holding out his arms. “I’m happy for you,” he says. “Come back to bed, will you?”

Outside on the balcony, a mynah bird squawks furiously. At a nearby temple, a loudspeaker switches on, and a monk begins chanting Pali Sanskrit prayers in a droning monotone. Street vendors call to each other in high voices as they set up for the day. 

Their small apartment is on a side street near Chulalongkorn University, where Hux has been teaching in the history department since 1975. He and Ben moved to Bangkok after Hux finished his doctorate; the Knights were broken up by then, and Hux never seemed entirely at ease in London, where he always felt as if his father might be watching him around every corner. When they first arrived in Bangkok, their third-floor apartment - with its own private elevator for Hux - had been very new and modern; now the building seems nearly as ancient as the pyramids, dwarfed by the towering skyscrapers of the 21st-century city. 

For almost thirty years, Ben has worked off and on, teaching Thai college students to play the guitar and performing mostly in clubs and bars that cater to Western tourists. Neither the folk music he had grown up in nor the harder-edged rock he had performed with the Knights were particularly popular with Thai people. The Knights, however, maintained something of a cult following in London and New York: the one record they had managed to put out before they imploded had become a valuable collector’s item. Ben still got fanmail, sometimes - especially since the late nineties, when the _Village Voice_ had published a flattering profile of him, accompanied by a brooding closeup of his scarred face. In the write-up, Richard Goldstein had credited the Knights with inspiring later glam-rock and punk artists and “infusing a subversive queer sensibility into 1960s cock-rock.”

Meanwhile, Hux’s ferociously anti-Communist lectures initially had both endeared him to the Thai government and made him a figure of some notoriety among his more left-wing students. But since the end of the Cold War, Hux’s fixation on Communist guerrilla fighters had come to seem rather quaint and eccentric. These days, his students and his younger colleagues tended to treat him with a kind of bemused deference, as if he were a relic of a bygone era. A small research grant that he had once received from the U.S. Defense Department had been cited in Congress as an example of wasteful government spending. And his book, “Clear, Hold, and Build: Counterinsurgency Lessons from Malaya and Vietnam,” had been out of print for decades. But apparently someone at the Pentagon had found a copy. 

“I can’t go back to bed, I need to get to work immediately,” Hux is saying. He leans against the wall, and Ben notices that his hands are trembling. Ben drags himself out of bed to silently hand Hux his cane. Over the years, Hux has had several bad falls that have exacerbated his wartime injury. “This is such a tremendous opportunity, I can’t let it slip away.”

Ben puts his arms around Hux’s waist and gently kisses the grey hair by his temple. “Look at that,” he says teasingly. “You’ll finally be back to yelling at stupid Americans about counterinsurgency, just like you’ve always wanted.” He nips at Hux’s earlobe. “Maybe while you’re at it we can pretend that I’m an innocent young soldier and you’re corrupting me. You know, for old times’ sake.”

Hux swats at him. “Don’t make fun,” he says. “This is entirely different than in Vietnam - I won’t be an unwanted interloper. This time, they’ve come to me - they actually want to build a campaign around my ideas! Do you have any idea what this means?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me what it means, no matter what I say.”

“Well, yes,” Hux admits. He looks radiantly happy. “It means that we finally have a war I can win!”

Ben tightens his grip on Hux’s waist. He sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... that’s it, folks! Thank you all so very, very much for sticking with it to the end and for all your kudos and kind comments. This fic has been very sustaining to work on through the pandemic and I’m kind of grieving being done with it. As always, please come yell at me on Twitter under the same username if you’re so inclined. 💕

**Author's Note:**

> Note on acronyms, for clarity: 
> 
> NVA = the North Vietnamese Army, also known as the PAVN (People’s Army of Vietnam). North Vietnam’s regular, main-force army of active-duty soldiers. Based in North Vietnam, but frequently infiltrated into South Vietnam. 
> 
> ARVN = the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. The South Vietnamese equivalent of the NVA. 
> 
> VC = the Vietcong, also known as the NLF (National Liberation Front). Communist guerrilla fighters based in South Vietnam. 
> 
> MACV = Military Assistance Command Vietnam. The four-star command responsible for leading American forces in Vietnam; headquartered in Saigon. General Westmoreland was the MACV commander from 1964-1968. 
> 
> CORDS: the Office of Civil Operations and Rural Development Support. A US - South Vietnamese government agency, founded in 1967 to coordinate and manage the various anti-Communist “pacification” efforts. 
> 
> Also, go here (https://lydiabslade.tumblr.com/post/613957665850343424/free-fire) to see an awesome drawing of Hux and Ben in their Vietnam uniforms by the very talented MsModernity! And then go to Twitter (https://twitter.com/MsModernity) to see more of her amazing work!


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